Cross-Cultural Exchanges for the Intrepid Alchemist
by tangeton
Summary: Roy decides to take up a career in dimension hopping. Munich 1924 is as good a place to start as any. FMA '03/Brotherhood crossover.
1. Munich, Summer 1924

**A/N:** so i recently came back to the fma fandom because i made the poor decision to finish off brotherhood during _finals week_

anyway! during my week long-crusade of fma fanfiction, i came across an lj prompt asking for manga!roy in 2003 fma, and i couldn't put it out of my mind, though i didn't write it exactly as requested, whoops! and needless to say, cross-dimensional romances are inherently quite tragic...

* * *

 **Part 1: _Munich, Summer 1924_**

There were precious few things worse than having to fight with a concussion. The list might include, for instance, having to report to work after a night of moody binge-drinking, working under duress courtesy of your Lieutenant's carefully positioned firearm, and the unpleasant feeling of realizing that you knew too little about a situation you were involved in to properly act.

Extending a gloved hand backwards, he set a minor explosion to detonate under the feet of his armed pursuers, sending them stumbling into the tiled floor with a fine set of second degree burns.

Hook, line, and roasted.

Roy didn't allow himself the time to consider the how and why of his circumstances just yet—survival was priority number one, as far as he was concerned. As far as he could tell, he wasn't facing any other alchemists. So, it was him and his recently-fixed gloves against a lot of guns and muscle.

He appeared to be in an administrative building with a style of dated, gothic architecture he might have taken the time to appreciate if he wasn't currently a prisoner of it. The light that filtered in from the windows he passed indicated that evening was waning, which would soon leave him with the advantage of nighttime cover should he decide to flee the premises. It was either that or find a strategic location to hide or barricade himself in while he recovered from his disorientation, which was admittedly worse than he thought.

The time-tested strategy of hugging the left wall led Roy into a circular, grand atrium, decorated with beautiful alabaster columns and masterfully-crafted stained glass murals for windows.

In the center, two golden-haired figures were the sole focus of a large squad of soldiers.

It was a testament to his mental state that he didn't even stop to _think_ before he snapped.

* * *

"Time is of the essence," Al repeated, half-mocking and half-exasperated, "let's just go in, right now, without a plan, because they could be making off with the bomb _as we speak._ Brother, why do you always do this?"

"If my plans are so bad, why do you always follow them?" Ed shot back, arms hanging upright in the air. The commander of the unit edged closer to the pair, taking their arms down and locking them roughly in a set of metal cuffs.

Al sighed, a single exhalation that sounded almost fond even in light of their current predicament. "I always do."

"Be quiet," the officer hissed at them, punctuating his statement with a particularly hard shove.

How good it was to have his brother back. Al filled in a large part of the hole left in his soul when he'd been banished to the world beyond the Gate, not once, but twice over. And to find that his sacrifice was made worth it, to have the pleasure of seeing his brother in his original body _…_ well, Ed could have died a happy man at eighteen if it weren't for the knowledge that he'd be leaving his brother alone again. They made an excellent team, the two of them, and they'd reverted back to their old ways with Al's recovered memories.

And that apparently included getting caught up in his harebrained schemes. Or lack thereof.

Part and parcel, Al. You don't get Edward Elric without trouble following close behind.

"This would be easy to get out of if we had alchemy," Ed grumbled, rattling his cuffs so that the chains clicked together irritatingly as they were walked to the entrance. Ed caught Al's expression, wry, before his retort was cut off by a set of hurried footsteps running into the atrium.

There, in all his irritating, confounding, _beautiful_ glory, stood General Roy fucking Mustang in Amestrian blue, fingers poised to snap and posture battle-ready.

And in classic Mustang fashion, set off a glorious chain of blinding flame that left no room for argument, torching the weapon hand of every armed soldier in the room with pinpoint accuracy and leaving them clutching their scorched appendages in agony. It was a thing of beauty, almost—the bright display of flame leaping from man to man in perfect arcs—if not for the fact that they had front-seats to the gruesome reality of people receiving debilitating first degree burns. He wasted no time—a trait Ed had to reluctantly admire—in marching forward and slugging the confused officer holding them custody with a strong uppercut to the chin, head snapping back and body crumpling to the floor. Mustang turned around to address his two gawkers.

"Move, Fullmetal, get out of here! Now!"

"Yes, sir!" Al squeaked, and Ed was certain Al would have saluted if his hands weren't bound.

"Wait just a fucking second, General bastard," Ed sputtered, even as his legs moved independent of his will to follow his former commanding officer out into the hallway. It was clear Mustang was trying to lose any potential pursuers with a winding path. "How the fuck are you here? And how are you using alchemy?"

Mustang directed a baleful glance at him over his shoulder as they approached an open room. "Don't know, don't very much care at this moment. A better question is why aren't _you_ using alchemy? Hold that thought," he said, and peered around the corner into the room, ostensibly scanning for enemies. "Do you know how to get out of here?"

"Um, yeah, General," Al answered, having finally recovered from the shock of seeing _Roy Mustang_ on the _fucking wrong side of the Gate, what the fuck,_ and managing to respond. "But we came here to find a uranium bomb. It's here somewhere, and we can't leave without it."

"Screw that," Ed bit out, shoulders cramping up from their pinched back position. "Transmute these cuffs off us first, would you?"

Mustang spared him that patented long-suffering look—that's how Ed knew this was the genuine article and not some phony—and ducked into the room, having confirmed it free of enemies. The two brothers followed him into the small storage room. He shut the heavy doors behind him and then slumped against them, one gloved hand clutching at his head.

He looked remarkably out of sorts, and Ed felt, _maybe_ , just a twinge of sympathy for him. It wasn't like Mustang to look so worn down—surprisingly, it wasn't a look Ed cared to see on the man.

"I have a concussion, I think," Mustang offered, catching the twin looks of concern directed at him. "In spite of my pain, let's see if I remember the correct array for this. Turn around, both of you."

"What kind of shitty alchemist would you be if you forgot a simple alloy transmutation," Ed muttered under his breath as he and Al turned around obligingly.

A clap, a goddamned _familiar_ sound and feeling, rang sharply in the air as rough, ignition cloth covered fingers touched down gently on his wrists. The metal of his cuffs slid around his wrists like a cold, living thing, reshaping itself into a cube of harmless steel that clattered the ground in the suddenly oppressive silence.

"That's convenient," Mustang said, almost absently, as he repeated the exercise on Al's wrists with a clatter of transmuted metal.

"General," Al said, almost ruefully, at the same time Ed lurched forward to throw himself at Mustang with a mix of contained horror and rage.

"Did you perform human transmutation?" Ed demanded, shaking his shoulders. " _Why_?"

"Fullmetal," Mustang said evenly, placing gentle hands on tense wrists, "do you really think I would do that?"

Did he really think… human transmutation and Roy Mustang simply did not belong in the same sentence. Despite Ed's misgivings about Mustang's character—namely, being a lazy, womanizing, promotion-obsessed asshole—Ed knew almost instinctively that Mustang's moral compass was as good as, if not better, than his own. Hell, he'd seen the results of their failed transmutation of their mother and he'd been furious when he'd found them both, badly traumatized, in the Rockbell home. There was no way he'd ever attempt it himself.

But it wasn't as if Ed _knew_ Mustang on a personal level—emotions drove even the best people to desperate measures.

Who could mean so much to Roy Mustang that he'd attempt the forbidden?

"You…" Ed relaxed his grip on his shoulders, letting them fall to the ground beside him. He took in a deep breath, letting his anger bleed out of his voice. "I don't know, would you?"

"No, I was forced to," Mustang sighed, "and I can't say I wasn't tempted, but I didn't do it willingly, I swear to you. It's a long story, and if you wish, I will explain after we're safe."

"What did it take from you?" Al asked, somber. "And your eye…"

"I don't know," the General breathed, letting his head fall back against the door. "Given me something, maybe. A bad migraine. Worse than any hangover I've had, I can tell you that." He brought his head up to stare piercingly at the two of them. "I'd like to ask my own questions, but I doubt we have enough time for tea and idle chit-chat." Dark eyes craned slowly to look at Al. "Alphonse, I take it?"

"Yes, sir!"

A soft smile played on the edges of Mustang's lips. "Good to see you in the flesh, so to speak."

Al giggled. "Thank you, sir."

"You were looking for a bomb, you said?" Mustang struggled to right himself from leaning against the doors, and Ed rushed forward to support him with an automail shoulder. He hoped this was apology enough for the General, and it seemed that it was, given the weary smile he gave Ed. "Do you know where it is in this place?"

"Not exactly," Ed said as he released Mustang from his hold after a small, irritated gesture from the other man. Ed huffed. The man never did know how to accept help gracefully. "Kind of my fault, as Al keeps saying. This is a government research building, however, so my best guess is that it would be in a vault or in a lab somewhere."

"No floor plans?" Mustang asked, arms crossed. He narrowed his eyes at Ed, and Ed could have wept at the familiarity of the expression. If someone told him he'd be missing Roy Mustang three years ago, he'd have transmuted them into dust. "How like you, Fullmetal."

"That's brother for you," Al laughed, and Ed rolled his eyes at him. "Well, I'm not my brother so in terms of floor plans, I did do some research beforehand. If it's in a lab, it should be in the basement. We should find some stairs."

"We passed some on our way here," Ed said, winding up his shoulders and throwing a light punch. The cuffs didn't do him any favors, really.

"I'd honestly like to help you both," Mustang said, blinking rapidly against the lamplight of the room. "But I'm afraid I'll only be a liability with my concussion. My control isn't up to par, and I'm afraid I might end up accidentally killing somebody."

"Simple. Don't use flame alchemy," Ed said, flapping a wrist carelessly in the air. Honestly, he was more than a little envious of Mustang's inexplicable ability to use alchemy in this universe, and the scientist in him itched to know the reasons for it. "You know how to encase people in stone and wood, right?"

"Feels unnatural," Mustang muttered somewhat petulantly. Louder, he continued. "Fine, if you think my alchemy could be an asset to your mission. But if I pass out and get shot, I'm haunting the both of you for the rest of your very short lives." He turned around to press an ear against the door, and both brothers remained silent for a few seconds. "I'm surprised that, given my non-lethal strikes, they still haven't come after us in hot pursuit." He wedged open the door just a sliver and sensing no presences, stepped outside.

"Let's go." Oh, and he _knew_ that look. Here came the tease. "And at least _try_ to be quiet, Fullmetal."

If someone asked him three years ago if he'd be missing Roy Mustang bossing him around, he would have cheerfully knocked their lights out. As it was, Ed only grinned and practically floated out the doors with a pleasant, light feeling in his chest.

* * *

Brother never came prepared. It was as much a law as the principle of equivalent exchange, and some things in the universe, he was certain, were just constant across space and time.

That didn't seem to include General Mustang.

Well, there was the fact that he and brother still bickered with each other like old friends, or, if Al was feeling adventurous, like a married couple. Or the fact that General Mustang still went out of his way to help them, especially with his concussion. But he couldn't help but categorize the ways in which he was different from the Roy Mustang he was familiar with in his memories, and he had a feeling that this Mustang was aware that he was different from the Mustang they were familiar with as well.

Privately, Al thought Ed was all too eager to ignore the differences in favor of having a verbal sparring partner again. Oh, brother.

Most obviously, he lacked the signature eyepatch he'd gained after his fight with Führer Bradley, in his encounter with Frank Archer. And the small frown he wore every time Al called him by his title. Oh, Al was certain that he was Roy Mustang—who else could perform flame alchemy with such finesse?—but he was more likely to be a younger version of the General.

But that didn't account for his ability to perform alchemy without an array. When he'd transmuted the cuffs off their wrists, he'd been surprised with his ability to perform it. So, it was a recent thing, and if the time-travel theory was true, the General they knew had to have been hiding his ability to transmute with a clap.

But that didn't seem right. The General simply seemed… different.

Whatever the reason, Al was grateful for the man's timely arrival. He honestly had no idea how Ed had been planning to get out of their unplanned arrest. Or how to explain how they were in a government-supervised lab skulking around unauthorized after hours.

He and the General trailed after Ed in formation as Ed took point, leading them down the stairs. A small flame on the tip of the General's finger illuminated the way down, but even it looked unsteady, flickering weakly in the passing air currents. The General was in a bad way, Al thought, biting his lip.

"General, are you okay?" Al asked quietly, not wanting to agitate the man's headache. "Please let us know if you need to take a break."

The edge of the General's lip quirked upwards. "Thank you for your concern, Alphonse. I hit my head pretty hard on the way down."

"You fell?" Al exclaimed softly, alarmed. The benefit of having alchemical firepower was not worth the amount of pain they were making the General suffer through.

"Hit my head right on the edge of a desk," Mustang said wryly, fingering the side of his head. "I'm just fortunate I didn't lose an eye to a sharp corner." They stepped off the last of the stairs onto the basement landing, and he looked around curiously, moving their source of light around to peer into the darkness. "Where to first?"

Al lit up. He'd known that Ed would have run into the lab half-cocked with no regrets, so he'd taken it upon himself to dig up floor plans from old library archives. While he was certain that the label of each room on the original diagram differed from its present-day designation, the layout should have remained the same, and there was much more room for lab space in the basements than on the first floor. This building, after all, had originally been designed as an administrative center 50 years ago. Which was why he'd suggested they check down here first.

"This way," he said, pointing down the corridor to the left. "There should be four big labs in the basement. We can go clockwise and check every lab as we go."

"Sounds good," Ed hummed agreeably, already racing forward to pull at the first door they came across. Predictably, it was locked, and in this Al was glad his brother had the foresight to bring his lock-picking kit. Life without alchemy had clearly shown Ed the necessities of other skills. And after a year in Germany, Al was beginning to understand what their teacher had meant by not relying on alchemy as a crutch for other life skills outside their island training.

Once Ed had wrestled the lock open, he'd dashed in only to realize that he was stumbling around in the darkness. "Get in here, bastard, before I trip over something sharp!"

The General gave him a tired shrug before trailing in at his own pace, firelight shifting the shadows with his every movement, a literal beacon in the dark.

Al had to confess a fascination with the science of the world beyond the gate. The scientists here seemed to be coming into what seemed to be a golden age of quantum mechanics, a field that never garnered much interest back in Amestris. Most alchemists were a practical sort, especially with the visibility and prestige of the State Alchemist program, with few pure theorists. In this, the world beyond the gate was far more advanced.

While alchemy and its applications would always have Al's heart, the brilliance of atomic theory left him starry-eyed. This was precisely the focus of the labs in the buildings, and the appropriate equipment lay scattered around the lab. Heavy lasers, diffraction equipment, and scattered notes on desks were indicative of active research. It was evident that the lab was funded well, but a bomb would have been out of place in this lab. Ed seemed to realize this and gestured for the party to follow him out to the next lab.

The next lab proved to carry much of the same equipment, but in the third, they found their bomb.

This lab, Al mused, was obviously designed to handle dangerous materials. Knowing their bomb, it was likely designed to study the uses of uranium.

Al frowned. Just how much research had they managed to perform on the bomb? Even if they stole the bomb back, who was to say that they couldn't reproduce it?

"Ah ha!" Ed crowed, lifting the rounded bomb in his arms. "Here's our little troublemaker."

"Brother," Al said, deciding to voice his thoughts on the bomb's research, "the bomb's been here for years, at least three. That's a lot of time for them to study it. Do you think it's reproducible? We didn't go through all this trouble for nothing, did we?"

Ed's brows furrowed in the dim light. "That's a good point, Al." He looked at the bomb in his hands. "It doesn't look like they've been able to disassemble this bomb, but they could have put it back together after studying it." He turned around to rummage through the piles of notes, piled high on the desks. "Best find their notes on the subject and destroy them, though we don't know if they will be the only copy they have."

"Uranium isn't unique to our world, if what I'm thinking is correct," Mustang said, looking paler than ever, even under the orange tint of the flame. "One might say that the development of a uranium-based bomb would be inevitable."

"Maybe you're right," Ed said quietly. "Still, it's something that came from our world, and it happened during my mission. I'm responsible for it." His brother huffed and set down the bomb to properly search through the papers. "Now help me find everything that's related to the bomb, we need to know how it's constructed to properly destroy it, then we can burn the notes."

Al nodded, gathering up what papers he thought were relevant to the bomb and placing it in a neat pile. The General used his free hand to sift through papers on the other side of the desks.

"Wait," Ed said suddenly, dropping his papers and shuffling towards the door. The General extinguished the flame with a flick of his fingers, shrouding the room in darkness once more. Distant chatter echoed in the hallway. "Well, it's about time."

The General relit the small flame and Al hastily stacked the papers he and Ed had gathered on the floor. With a small gesture, a small burst of fire transformed the notes to ash.

"You guys find the bomb construction notes," Ed ordered under his breath. "I'll stay here in case they try and come in."

Al stacked more notes on the floor for the General to burn. "Just a moment, we're almost done with the notes." Al picked up a sheaf of papers and let out a small noise of success. "I've got it!"

"Is there any way we can avoid confrontation?" Mustang asked Ed, who was peering out the entrance. He passed the bomb to Al. Ed shook his head and Al knew he was right: the voices were too close, dim light spilling into the hallway. They would not be able to escape in the opposite direction without making noise. He sighed and extinguished the flame once more. "An ambush, then."

Ed grinned, and Al let his face fall into his palms.

"I can take 'em. You guys get upstairs. Al, you remember where the car's parked, right?" Al nodded. "Run in the other direction. And bastard?" Mustang let out a grunt of acknowledgement and Ed's eyes glinted in the lamplight. "Take care of Al, or I'll have your ass."

"Roger, sir," was the dry response, and in the next moment they were sprinting away from a cacophony of shouts in the hallway behind them.

* * *

Why wasn't he surprised? The Elrics, trouble, and property damage were part of an unbreakable and unholy trinity.

Although he was the one mostly responsible for the property damage today, he thought, transmuting a hole in the wall and ushering Alphonse through it. He quickly restored it to its original state and watched the security team's outraged expressions in the windows as they ran across the front lawn and into the neighboring gardens.

Roy spat out a bundle of leaves as they ran through well-trimmed bushes. "Where's the car?"

"This way!" Alphonse yelled back, and Roy had to admire how quickly the boy could run. Ah, to be young again. And he'd probably had plenty of experience, being an Elric.

Honestly, Roy was beyond confusion at this point. He'd gone past it and straight into delirium.

Edward and Alphonse in a world without alchemy? Alphonse in his original, non-metallic, body? Why were they calling him _General?_

And why wasn't he missing a limb and half an eyeball?

He could probably blame exhaustion and his spotty vision for how he practically tripped and fell into the back seat of the vehicle in front of him.

"We have to go back and get brother," Al said above the sounds of distant yelling and sirens, throwing himself in the front seat. He dropped the bomb and papers and leaned forward to twist the key in the ignition, stepping on the starter to start the engine.

Roy struggled to right himself from his almost-cartwheel into the seat. "Are you driving?"

"I'm _thirteen!_ "

Roy vaulted himself over the seat, reaching for the throttle and trying not to give into the urge to tear his hair out. "This might be rough," he warned, and indulged in the sort of reckless driving that his Lieutenant would certainly have shot him for.

Roy pulled out of the garden lot and rolled out onto the streets, skidding to a stop in front of the laboratory just in time to see Fullmetal flinging security personnel into each other with reckless abandon. Fullmetal naturally excelled at close-combat and Roy was reluctantly impressed by the way he tossed a man almost twice his size over his shoulder into the ground.

"Brother!" Alphonse called out, waving an arm in the air. Fullmetal kicked out one leg to sweep a guard off his feet and hauled himself over and into the backseat. Roy didn't wait for confirmation before he propelled the car forward and into the streets, vainly hoping he was driving away from the sound of sirens.

No such luck. He could hear cars in pursuit at least two blocks behind them.

"I don't know the layout of the city," Roy grit out, twisting the wheel and making a hard right, "where are we supposed to go?"

"Would you believe that I hadn't thought this far ahead?" Edward yelped as his shoulder hit the car door. "Slow down and park somewhere, I'll drive!"

Roy was already doing so, stopping in front of a quaint townhouse and dragging himself over to trade places with Fullmetal. "You drive?"

"Don't sound so surprised." Edward's grin was all teeth. "I've picked up a lot of skills in the past three years without alchemy."

"Less banter, more driving," Alphonse rebuked, but the cars were already in sight, even as they began moving again. Roy flinched as a bullet struck the car door. He kept his head low as he extended a hand around the side of the car. With a click of his fingers, the explosion and the sudden expansion of gas upended the pursuing car. Roy repeated the process with the other two cars until the pain in his hand kept him from providing further assistance.

"I think we're clear, General." Alphonse slumped back into his seat, and Fullmetal let out a whoop. They appeared to be leaving the city for the countryside, fields of green almost forest-dark in the moonlight.

"Yeah, nice going there with the explosions and stuff," Fullmetal chortled, leaning back to look at him. Roy wanted to strangle him for not watching the road, and for his shenanigans in general. "One trick pony or not, that was still pretty damn cool."

"See if that's the last time I help your ungrateful self," Roy said, and he knew he was at his limit. "Now, if you're finished harassing me…"

He was almost grateful to pass out.

* * *

" _My poor, wayward alchemist."_

 _Roy turned around swiftly in an unfamiliar, vacant space. It was blindingly white, spotless and sterile, with no visible end in sight. His eyes flickered nervously from corner to corner, vainly trying to determine the source of the voice._

" _Who's there?" Roy demanded. "Where am I?"_

" _Too smart to attempt the taboo, and yet you still ended up here." And then the omnipresent voice, rough and rattling around as if in his head, seemed to focus itself in a single direction. Roy turned around one final time to encounter a featureless mannequin, hazy at the outlines with only a sly grin to indicate any outward emotion. "Even for me, there is a first for everything."_

" _Who are you?" He tried not to let on how unnerved he was show in his voice. His body language betrayed him instead, fingers trembling in his gloves. He fisted his hands in an effort to reign himself in. "What do you mean?"_

" _So many questions," the figure in white said, circling Roy, an apex predator toying with its prey. "A better question is, what should I take from you?"_

 _A lightbulb went off dimly in Roy's mind. "You're… the being that the Elrics met, the Truth that took away Edward's limbs and Alphonse's body."_

" _Very clever, little alchemist," Truth clapped its hands, and the smug, perpetual grin grew wider. "And it is true that I would take something from you, normally, for your hubris." It hummed, tapping a finger to its cheek in thought, though Roy had the impression that it wasn't thinking very deeply at all. Like it had already determined its punishment, and was just stringing Roy along for the suspense. "What would you give up, hmm?" It walked up to Roy, close enough to touch. "Your hands? So that you can't defend yourself? Your friends, or your country?" It reached out and tapped his shaking fists. "Your feet, so you can't be the foundation on which others can build on?" Truth reached down to skim its fingers along his tense knees. "Something more incorporeal, such as your memories, so the hard lessons you've learned—namely, Ishval—can't be passed on for others to learn from?"_

 _Roy didn't trust himself to speak._

" _Perhaps," Truth stood up again, face to featureless face, "your eyes. Your sight. What beautiful things they are, your eyes. Black as night and a window to your soul, as tainted or as pure as you think it may be. Taken so that you will never see the future you envision for the country you love so much." Fingers caressed, feather-light, along the curve of his cheek. It was a gentle touch, parental even, if Roy hadn't known better._

" _Don't," Roy grit out, pulling the hand away from his face, "toy with me."_

" _I'm always serious," Truth giggled, childlike and mocking. "But there is no lesson to be gained for you." The grin that Roy had thought was a permanent fixture suddenly faded to a frown. "It is the artificial being you call Father who should pay the price."_

" _How do you plan to do that?"_

 _The perpetual grin made its return. "Why, I think I will take away his sacrifice." A loud sound, something reminiscent of the whirring of mechanical equipment, banged behind him. This time when he turned around, he found himself staring at a stone gate, almost five times his height and embossed with Bertholdt Hawkeye's original encrypted research detailing the secrets of flame alchemy, a perfect match to the tattoo on Riza's back. The doors swung open and his eyes grew wide with poorly contained horror as boneless arms grabbed at his body, pulling him backwards._

" _Have a nice trip, Flame Alchemist. With any luck, I'll be seeing you again soon."_


	2. Berlin, Summer 1924

**A/N:** this is quickly becoming my favorite finals escaping pastime. hooah, escapism!

* * *

 **Part 2: _Berlin, Summer 1924_**

"You can blink, brother. He's not going to disappear on you."

Al watched his brother shake himself out of his semi-trance. It seemed to take an almost herculean amount of effort for Ed to tear his eyes away from the unconscious figure resting on their couch. He couldn't help but smile when he saw the expected look of embarrassment and indignation settle on Ed's face.

"I wasn't," Ed protested weakly, but abandoned his defense when he realized how feeble his objection sounded. He ran a hand through his bangs, a nervous gesture he'd never quite managed to shake off. It was a comforting legacy of the time they'd spent together searching for the stone. "All the shit we've been through, everything that we've seen, and I still can't believe this is happening."

"I know," Al said, sympathetic. And he knew exactly why Ed was frustrated. After the invasion on Central and their willing exile to the other side of the Gate, Ed had resolved to make this world their permanent home once and for all. It was part of why he was so adamant about retrieving the bomb. Ed didn't like the possibility, didn't like the hope, that they might be able to go home again. Because every single one of their encounters with the Gate left them more fragmented than the last, until Ed had finally concluded that dealing with the Gate was like asking yourself to be punched in the face, and his solution was to abstain from it altogether.

Which Al had agreed with, eventually, because it wasn't a matter that he felt too strongly about. Because wherever his brother was, was home enough for him. He'd spent two years wandering around Amestris feeling like half a person, he'd walk the rest of his life on Earth if it meant being by his brother's side.

Or at least knowing that he was within reach—close as siblings were, Al figured he would eventually need breathing room. He was just catching up on lost time, now.

Al was content with the simplicity of being with his brother, and he knew that the reverse was true for his brother. But perhaps, not quite to the same extent. Al had adjusted to life across the Gate well enough—alchemy wasn't everything, of course—but Ed, even having two years on him in this world, had more difficulty doing so.

He was, in a word, homesick.

Al didn't care about returning to Amestris. But Al _did_ care about _Ed_ wanting to return to Amestris, and that was reason enough to consider the possibility.

Within limits. Because he would sooner die before seeing another invasion of Central. It was either do it right or not at all.

"We can't treat him like the General," Al told him, in case it needed to be said. He watched Ed take a deep breath, his way of reaching for calm.

"I know." Ed looked like he'd been caught out, face pinched but still solemn. Al knew that even as Ed had grown up, he was still reaching for familiarity in a man who reminded him of home. Even if their relationship did consist mostly of sarcastic remarks and witty rejoinders.

The question needed to be asked. "Are you thinking of asking him—"

"No." Ed's eyes were steely. "This is home, now."

Except that it wasn't, not for Ed.

Al let his gaze slide over to settle on Mustang, deep in slumber, blissfully unaware of the problem he'd unwittingly dropped into their laps after a year of coming to terms with their new life.

A concession, then. Al would put this argument on the side-burner until the time was right to discuss it again. A mischievous smile crept across his face.

"At least thank him."

He watched the tension visibly drain from Ed's face. This was familiar territory. "We could have gotten out on our own eventually. Probably."

As they watched over the older man, Al pretended not to notice how Ed reached for Roy, fingers extended close enough to brush black hair. Aborted at the last second, as if the act of touching him would bring him home.

* * *

What a dream, Roy thought groggily as he fought his way through mental fog and back into the waking world. Elrics from an alternate universe breaking into government labs for uranium bombs, an older Edward in unusually dull colors, and a restored Alphonse. As far as dreams went, probably not the worst dream to have. Reality was nightmare enough for him, seriously. Consider his life and a government run by homunculi and a nationwide transmutation circle. Life did not get any worse than that.

Except when it did.

"Well, look who's up," a singsong voice cut through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. If he'd known that Edward's voice was more effective than any alarm clock, he'd have replaced his own ages ago. "Catch up your beauty sleep, princess?"

He meant to say something witty, something classy, something to be written down in the annals of time to go down as the best retort made in all of recorded history. Something like _'something you could use more of yourself, Elric.'_

Instead, what came out was, "mmph."

Embarrassing.

Roy finally opened his eyes to the sight of Edward Elric in atypically muted colors. He wore a white, high-collar dress shirt complimented by a brown waistcoat and matching slacks. He was missing the brown overcoat he'd been wearing during their poorly-planned mission in the laboratory. On the whole, he looked strangely mature for Edward, and Roy wondered exactly how old the young man standing before him was. Certainly older than his own subordinate, whose face he remembered clearly, disintegrating before his eyes…

Roy shoved himself upright in a fit of panic, startling the young man hovering over him. He'd been so caught up in the hijinks of this world, he'd completely forgotten about his own. He'd left Riza back in that underground lair in the same room as Bradley and Pride, what the hell was he thinking? There was no way they would survive the encounter without him—or even with him, given the ease with which he'd been taken down by Bradley, he'd never been good at close-quarters combat—

"Hey, whoa there, Roy! Calm down, you're okay!"

—and then there was Fullmetal, arms on his shoulders, grounding him to reality again. Sense reasserted itself as Roy grappled with the lines of reasoning that kept him sane. There was no reason to believe that time flowed continuously, flowed to scale and in parallel, with the world he was in. If he ever got back—no, _when_ he got back, he'd come back immediately back to when he left, if he could help it. It was easier to think, to breathe, if he thought of himself as outside of time.

And displaced in space.

"Thank you," Roy said, and Edward let go of him hesitantly, like he was concerned he might flip out on him again. Roy couldn't blame him. He'd been just that close to hyperventilating, and he was sorry that Fullmetal had to see him like that, lost in a moment of weakness.

"It's no problem," Fullmetal offered, a little cautiously. His reaction was the opposite of what he might have expected from the Edward he knew. He'd expected a lot more teasing, and he supposed this was another way that this Edward differed from his own. How old was he, again? "Want to, um, tell me about it?"

Roy couldn't help the way his eyebrows rose. That was unusually considerate of him to offer, but Roy wasn't quite comfortable enough with him to expound overmuch on his fears. But he wasn't going to outright reject the offer. "I was just thinking about the people and the situation I left behind before I came here. It wasn't good."

"Okay." Fullmetal caught on quickly, though he got the impression he'd be asked about it later. "Are you hungry? It's about time for lunch."

"It is?" Out of habit, Roy pulled out his pocket watch to check the time. It told him it was still seven in the morning. Of course it would have, Roy mentally reprimanded himself, it was still set to the time in the world he'd left behind. A chuckle from Edward brought him out of his musings. Roy gave him a questioning look as he noted the time on the small analog clock hanging on the wall in the kitchen and set to adjusting the time on his watch.

"That old thing," Edward explained, eyes strangely fond. Roy didn't need much more explanation, but he continued nonetheless. "When I crossed over the first time, I lost everything in my possession. Including that damn watch."

"It's only symbolic here," Roy said, pocketing it again and getting to his feet. He winced as he pulled a muscle. "Not a dog of anything, now."

"The uniform says otherwise," Edward teased, shuffling over to the entrance to pull his brown coat off the rack, along with Roy's own black trench coat. "Speaking of which, you might want to think about a change in attire while you're here."

Roy looked down at himself and smiled wryly. Of course. He'd grown so used to wearing his uniform day in and day out, it was practically a second skin. To think that he was in a world where the state uniform was an uncommon sight was more than a little mind-boggling, but Roy was game if it meant going plainclothes. Life was more fun out of uniform anyway. "Any suggestions?"

"Style here's not so different than in Amestris," Edward told him, handing him his coat and pulling his own on. "Wear what you'd wear normally, not much to it. But if you're having trouble, I can make a few _suggestions._ "

Roy figured by that tone of voice Fullmetal was picturing him in clothing he'd sooner burn than wear. "I've got it, thanks," he said dryly. He put his hands together, fixed the appropriate array in his mind, and touched his fingers to his chest, sending a shock of blue light down his uniform. In the next moment, he was sporting black slacks, the original dress shirt he wore under his uniform shirt, and a matching black suit jacket.

"Showoff," Edward mumbled, head tilted to the side as if a crooked perspective would make his outfit look different. "You _are_ going tell me how you can do that here, right?"

"If you tell me where we're going, first," Roy replied, shrugging on his overcoat.

"Soup kitchen," Edward said only, and Roy's mind suddenly ground to a halt. Soup kitchen? Just what kind of employment did the boys have in this world and what was the state of the economy such that soup kitchens were a necessity? Roy realized he knew next to nothing about the world he was in, and resolved to pump Fullmetal for information as soon as possible. Roy moved to walk through the door Edward held open for him, descending the stairs, two flights, until they reached the streets.

"Let's talk," Roy said, carefully observing his companion's expressions. Edward visibly steeled himself for the talk ahead. "Let's start with yesterday's events."

"Do you maybe remember a mission where you sent me to Southern Amestris to talk to a man about a uranium bomb? His invention. He wanted a state alchemist to introduce him to the brass?"

Roy let Edward guide them along unfamiliar streets. Roy, as a rule, did not send Fullmetal on many missions on behalf of the state. Edward's focus as a state alchemist had been primarily the restoration of his and his brother's bodies, and the brat had always protested loudly whenever one of those missions crossed his desk. As such, it was a short list, and Roy could not remember such a mission. "No, I don't believe that I ever sent you on a mission like that." At least in his continuity.

Edward seemed to deflate. "Ah, well, it didn't go well. Long story short, I kind of provoked him to open the Gate and his bomb ended up on this side." He scratched the back of his head in a nervous gesture. "My fault, so I had to get it back, you understand?"

Roy made a thoughtful sound to show he was still following. Fullmetal was, as he'd come to know in his long years of association with the boy, was as headstrong as they came. But more than anything else, he had a sense of responsibility that outclassed all else. And that was why he hated being in debt to others; his constant insistence on shouldering the price of his mistakes would keep him from accepting help when it wasn't absolutely necessary. Which was why using a philosopher's stone, after knowing what went into one, was out of the question for the boy when it came to fixing their bodies. Even if those souls were hypothetically willing to sacrifice themselves in exchange for Alphonse's body and his arm and leg, he'd reject it.

What was more interesting was the Gate.

"Tell me about what you know of the Gate," Roy asked him, careful not to phrase it as an order. He would have to get into the habit of treating this Edward as an equal. Roy half-expected Fullmetal to refrain and demand information in exchange first, but he surprised him again by letting it go. They were within sight of the soup kitchen by now, and they both got into line for their portions.

"Facts first, I suppose. The Gate is the source of all alchemical energy," Edward said, looking up at him with hooded eyes. It wasn't a pleasant topic for them both, Roy understood this. "It also links Earth and our world together. The relationship between the two worlds," Edward waved a hand in the air in a complicated motion, "is a little morbid. People that die on this side, their souls are converted into energy which is used by alchemists in Amestris to catalyze alchemic reactions."

Okay, that was worse than he'd expected. "That is more than just a little morbid." He took a second to digest this as Edward handed him a metal bowl of diluted chowder. "Our transmutations harness the energy created by tectonic plate movement."

Roy looked over just in time to witness Edward dribbling soup out of his mouth in shock. "What, seriously?" And he could almost see how Fullmetal's mind was making the leaps of logic only his prodigious mind could produce. "That could answer a whole shit ton of things, including how you power your alchemy here, but then the Gate…"

Alright, now he was just withholding information. Roy sent him a sharp look. "Sorry, sorry, let me explain. Wherever you go, you're still able to power your transmutations because of the constant presence of tectonic movement. I mentioned that alchemy only goes one way in these two linked universes, and we're on the wrong side of it, so it makes sense I'm not able to power it." That sounded right, and he nodded for Edward to continue. "Hypothetically, we also differ in the way that we are able to access the Gate to harness this energy. It seems like we're playing by two sets of rules here."

"If I were to be using your world's Gate rules," Roy supposed, gesturing with his spoon, "I would be, hypothetically, playing by your universe's rules."

"And you wouldn't be able to do alchemy," Edward's eyes glittered with the light of a new challenge, a researcher's paradise. "So that brings us to one of two things. The gate is a universal thing, and the means by access vary from universe to universe, a set of rules which is assigned to an individual. The other possibility is that you have a connection to a _different_ Gate, which abides by different rules."

There was something about this topic that itched in the corner of his brain, a new part of him that he'd yet to get used to. It seemed to be… a part of the Gate, the knowledge given to him like a certificate of proof of passage. But he didn't think that he'd had enough time to settle in and sort through the newly acquired information, save the abilities that came to him instinctively, like his newfound ability to transmute without an array.

"I think I have more to say on the topic, but it's part of the body of knowledge I recently gained from passage through the Gate, so I think I need time," Roy told him, and Edward blinked and the lines of his face softened unexpectedly.

"I understand. I was a little fucked up in the days after I went through the Gate the first time, myself. Here." Edward took the empty bowl from his hands and trotted back to the dish return. He returned shortly with two small loaves of bread, one of which he handed to Roy. "Hey, and here we are, having a civil conversation."

Roy laughed. He couldn't help it—Edward was right. They _were_ having a civil conversation, for once. About alchemy, but they'd gone at least two sentences without sniping at each other. Edward seemed to be startled by his sudden outburst of laughter, and then looked inexplicably pleased with himself.

"Don't give me the opportunity," Roy said, biting into his portion of bread. "It's strange, because I'm not your Roy and you're not my Edward, but I still want to piss you off and watch the fireworks."

"Same, I guess, though I haven't gotten around to making you lose your cool yet," Edward admitted, and then they were leaning against the brickwork, people-watching. "It's a work in progress."

"Where's Alphonse?"

"Around," Edward replied, and Roy noted that Edward had long since polished off his portion of the bread. He noticed that he was casting longing glances at his own portion and Roy gave in and handed the remainder to him, much to the delight of the other. "Checking around if anyone's looking for us after our break-in. Remnants of the Thule Society's still kicking, looking for us. Not as concerted anymore, but still."

Roy wasn't familiar with this Society, but he figured he'd ask later. For now, he was more curious about the world he was in. "So what's the state of this country? Looks like it's in the middle of a depression."

"Oh, I forgot. You like this kind of stuff, don't you? Politics, and stuff. Well, you wouldn't be wrong," Edward said, shrugging absently. "Germany, this world, recently came out of a war. It was a big one, we're talking international."

Roy tried and failed to contain his surprise. "To the victor goes the spoils? I'm guessing Germany wasn't on the winning side of the war."

"Right on," Edward said lazily, pushing himself up and walking again. Roy followed. They weren't going in the direction of the Elrics' apartment, but he figured Edward had a destination in mind. "Reparations and stuff like that. A sort of provisional government is currently in power after the decline of the monarchy in the aftermath of the world war. The mark isn't worth anything right now, and we get most of our meals from soup kitchens."

If there was one thing Roy hated more than anything else, it was imposing on someone else's kindness. He'd work his own niche out here and pay his bills. "I've always wondered what kind of job you'd take if not as an alchemist. Are you working as a researcher?"

Contrary to expectations, Edward laughed, a surprisingly light sound. "I used to work on rockets, trying to fly my way back home, I suppose." He seemed to retreat inward. "I still do some aerospace engineering work myself, but mostly I switched over to physics, help at the university in an unofficial capacity. Got my name on a few papers, myself."

"You're doing pretty well for yourself then, fitting in," Roy observed. "I should probably look for an apartment—"

"Don't," Edward said, almost violently. Roy had to contain his surprise at his tone. "You can stay with us, it's fine. We have a spare room, if Al and I bunk together again."

"Thank you for your hospitality, then," Roy offered, mostly as a peace offering. He filed Edward's protest in the back of his mind to analyze later, and he'd look into other accommodations on the side. "So what's this about political unrest?"

"We used to live in Munich, you know," Fullmetal said instead, picking at the hem of his coat. He crossed his arms again and looked at Roy. "It was the location of a failed coup attempt by Adolf Hitler, Nazi Party Leader, called the Munich Putsch. Not to mention the Thule society's attempt at crossing the Gate to Amestris. In any case, it seemed too dangerous to stay, so Gracia—"

Roy's knees nearly failed him, and he stumbled a little before catching himself. Edward only grinned at his reaction. "Gracia?"

"Exactly the reaction I was going for," the little blond terror chortled, and at that moment Roy wanted to wring his neck. "The very same. Though Hughes—"

Roy coughed, hard. "Are you _trying_ to kill me, Fullmetal?"

There was undisguised pleasure reflected in those uniquely amber eyes of his. "I try! Anyway, Hughes has been trying to court her for a year so far. He's not having the best of luck, and I'm starting to think that our Hughes' marriage was a fluke."

"Back up a moment," Roy demanded. "I get why you're here, you crossed over, but what are Hughes and Gracia doing on this side?"

Fullmetal let his mouth fall open in shock before he seemed to catch on. "Oh, I guess I forgot to mention. There are parallel world counterparts of people we know in Amestris here. Hughes and Gracia are two of them."

"There are more?" Roy didn't think he could handle much more. This was way out of his division. "Spare me, please."

"Don't worry, I haven't met your counterpart yet," Edward laughed, and Roy tried to radiate disapproval. "I don't have a working theory of where to find our counterparts. A lot of us turned up in Germany, but most of the population is quite homogenous, I'm not sure your counterpart would fit in."

"If Amestris is an accurate model and parallel, you'd be right. I possess Xingese ancestry from my mother's side."

"You do?" Edward looked as surprised as he felt. He wasn't quite sure why he'd told him that. "I'd always wondered."

"Back onto the topic, what was that about Gracia?" Roy wasn't sure how they'd veered so far off subject, and he usually wasn't in the habit of volunteering personal information.

"Right, well, Gracia thought it was best to move to a different city, and I happened to agree. She suggested Berlin, and I happened to agree," Edward explained, and they were fast approaching a flower shop. Roy looked to Edward for answers and received an enigmatic smile in response. Roy narrowed his eyes. That was not an expression he was used to seeing on that face. He wasn't sure Fullmetal was even _capable_ of being coy, but here was his proof. They were coming up to the shop window, and Roy peered into the open-air florist shop.

That damn brat. Roy really _was_ going to end up wringing Edward's pretty little neck.

Before Roy could get in a word edgewise, Edward had already grasped his arm and physically dragged him into the shop. Roy was this close to pitching a fit. "Miss Gracia, good afternoon!"

Everything in this woman's posture screamed _Gracia Hughes,_ from her hairstyle, her choice in fashion—a green sundress with a white knitted pullover—and that persistently kind look in her eyes. And Roy couldn't help but relax in her presence, even as he cognitively knew this wasn't Gracia, wife and widow of his best friend. She smiled brightly at the pair of them, setting down the fresh cuts of daffodils and irises she was arranging in bouquets.

"Good afternoon," she greeted, radiant as ever in lightly accented Amestrian, and the illusion crumbled partially. She looked Roy over curiously, and it stung a little not to be recognized by someone so familiar to him, even if his visits had dwindled down in the past year due to the nationwide conspiracy. And to see that gentle face again, unmarred by Envy's cruelty—it was unexpectedly refreshing. "A new friend, Edward?"

Edward bobbed his head affirmatively, sending his neat, golden ponytail flying from side to side. He discreetly shoved Roy at the woman, and only manners kept him from sending Ed the stink-eye. "Yes, this is Roy. Roy Mustang."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gracia," Roy said, inclining his head slightly in greeting and injecting just a bit of charm into his voice. He found that he didn't have to force a smile, because the one he wore was genuine.

She laughed and a faint dusting of pink spread across her cheeks. Roy grunted lightly when Edward realized what he'd done and thumped him lightly on the back. "It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Mustang."

The old song and dance. "Please, Miss Gracia. Call me Roy."

She smiled at him, just a little shyly. "Thank you, Roy."

"Do I get the pleasure, too?" Edward raised his eyebrows suggestively, and Roy was so stunned by the inquiry he'd accidentally let out a bark of incredulous laughter.

"Sure," Roy acquiesced, smiling indulgently. He let a little mischief bleed into his voice. "If I get to throw back your favorite phrase back at you, _Edward._ "

"Not fair," the younger man huffed. Golden eyes sparked playfully in the afternoon light. "It's Ed or nothing, _Roy._ "

"That's fair," Roy said, and that was long enough for their allotted banter for the day. Manners dictated that was terribly impolite to exclude their third participant. "These are some beautiful flowers, Gracia. Do you grow these all yourself?"

"Most of them, yes!" Her smile widened, and Roy knew that this was a topic she was warming up to. She was a woman who truly loved her profession, then. "It's summer, now, and it's the best time to be growing most varieties of flowers. So you'll see a lot more flowers in the shop this time of year." She seemed to remember something, and extended a finger to tap at her chin. "Oh, Edward, if you were looking for Noah, she's out doing deliveries right now."

"That's fine," Ed said, with a strangely shuttered look. It was gone as soon as it came, and Roy had to wonder who Noah was to cause such a reaction. "Just wanted to stop by and show off your shop to Roy, here."

"Yes, I'm very glad I came," Roy said, and marveled at the truth of the statement. He wondered briefly why he hadn't spent more time in florist shops while he was in Central. Right. Paperwork was the culprit. "The next time I come here, I'll come with the intention of supporting your lovely business."

"What's your recommendation for today? I'll take something back, Gracia," Ed said, leaning over and examining the flower arrangements on display. Gracia leant over and picked up her forgotten arrangement of daffodils, deftly selecting flowers and arranging them into a cheerful bundle of white and yellow. She bound them in white cloth ribbon, and handed it to Roy. He accepted it with some bemusement, though he did so gracefully.

"A present for a new friend." Gracia smiled. "My gift to you both. Please check back soon, and bring Alphonse, too. I'll have a lot more things to put on display, and maybe you can stay for dinner!"

As they departed the store bound for the apartment, Roy turned to Ed. "Thank you." Because he hadn't known how much he'd wanted to see another familiar face in this brave, new world of theirs. Though she wasn't the Gracia they knew, she, like Gracia Hughes, was kind at the core, and had a way of soothing others with just kind words and open sentiment.

Gold eyes rolled up to look at him with faint astonishment before converting into warmth. "You're welcome. And thank you for helping us yesterday." Ed reached out to touch the daffodils nestled in the crook of his arm. "I want you to know that I don't want to treat you like some kind of doppelganger of the General."

"I'm sure you won't," Roy said, and believed it. "And it's still _Colonel_ bastard, if it's all the same to you. Good to know I eventually get promoted, though."

"Knew you'd like that," Edward said, rolling his eyes and fishing out his keys from his coat pockets.

* * *

If it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, it probably is a duck.

If only reality was as simple as that.

Mustang—Roy, now—had the looks, the mannerisms, and the wit to qualify for all criteria of the test of abductive reasoning, but Ed was starting to see the difference. Though he couldn't tell whether it was because he was beginning to differentiate the two because of the qualities the man had simply because he came from another dimension, or if it was because he was simply getting to know Roy—the man, not the commanding officer—better. If, _hypothetically_ , he ever saw the Brigadier General again, would they get along just as well as he and the Colonel?

Ed shook off the thought and nearly tripped over the stack of his textbooks he was moving to Al's room. Of course not. Well, maybe, but it would never be _identical._ Compatible personalities contributed to a friendship, but shared experiences consisted the bulk of a relationship.

A relationship? What a confusing choice of words.

Ed picked up his pillow and stared at it uncomprehendingly for a second too long. It would theoretically be possible to transmute all the sheets clean. Relationship? But he didn't want to bother Roy, he was in the kitchen making dinner. A relationship. The Colonel knew how to cook. Did he need help with the stew? In the platonic sense, of course.

He threw down the pillow and sat down on the bed, frustrated. His left hand crept up to run its fingers through his ponytail.

He couldn't work with his thoughts flying in every direction at once. It was confusion, plain and simple, because not once had he ever _looked_ at Roy Mustang and seen the potential for friendship. And just because they were getting along, after just one afternoon walk, was there supposed to be anything more.

Ed grit his teeth and resolved to stop torturing himself. No more thoughts. He was supposed to be getting the room clean of his shit for their new housemate.

Though, would he be staying with them permanently? That was what Al was getting at earlier this morning. He got the sense that no, Roy wasn't planning on staying for the long-term. There was always something lurking below the surface, in that brilliantly manipulative mind of his, scheming and thinking of ways to bend the world to his will. Of course he wouldn't _stay._

So could Ed _go?_

What, back to their world? Or to Roy's dimension? Because that was certainly where Roy was planning on returning to. In fleeting fancies Ed had entertained the thought of finding a way home to his Amestris, to Winry and Pinako, General Mustang and his loyal team. People who knew him, cared about him. Where alchemy ran like electricity through his veins, flowing through his lungs like fuel, the potential to do big, almost legendary things at sparking at his fingertips. Where the skies seemed bluer, less tainted with the air of conspiracy.

He was just a normal person, now. But that wasn't so bad. He'd almost come to terms with it, though Al had always told him to stop lying to himself.

Maybe he _did_ want to go home.

Ed let out a frustrated yell and threw the pillow at the door, where it sailed through the air and suddenly halted its course with a muffled smack, sliding down miserably to the floor.

Shit, he and Roy had something else in common. Misplaced out of time and space, in this place of cursed exile.

There was a padding of footsteps against the wood paneling of the floor, and the door opened just a crack, precisely revealing the subject of his frustrations. Roy looked down to the floor and picked up the pillow, patting the dust off it and ambling over to sit down on the bed next to him.

And then he crammed the pillow in his face.

Ed yelped into the pillow, and decided that if this was how he was going out, it would be fitting. Smothered to his doom by Roy Mustang, Flame Alchemist, Master of Pillows and Feathery Death. He flailed helplessly for a few seconds before he could halt the attack. He shoved the pillow off his face only to be confronted with a smirking Roy.

"Stew's done," Roy said unnecessarily, leaning back on his hands.

And because Ed was currently about 20 different emotions personified, he said, "huh?"

"Where's that bottomless pit we all know and love," Roy said, and Ed wanted to throttle him with the pillow. He had the means, where was the will? But soon the teasing stopped and Roy affected a serious expression. "I heard a shout. Did you hurt yourself?"

"You're one to talk," Ed shot back, and at Roy's confused look, he sat up and gestured to his hands. Roy raised his hands, palms bandaged neatly with strips of cloth and medical tape. "Why didn't you tell us you were injured? We shouldn't have made you fight in that condition, and you were snapping like crazy yesterday."

"Oh," he said, succinctly. "'Appear strong when you are weak, and weak when you are strong,' right? We had larger concerns to worry about, and I'm all right now. And you still made me fight with a concussion." Roy folded his hands in his lap, quirking an eyebrow at Ed. "Did you bandage them?"

"Ah, no, Al did," Ed replied. "Al's surprisingly into medical stuff. I'm ninety-percent sure that he's going to be a doctor of some sort."

"Fitting," Roy hummed lowly and stood up again, jostling the bed. Ed rolled to the side to look at him. "He has the patient, caring nature required for the career."

"And you?" Ed couldn't help but ask. "Why'd you join the military?"

Roy bent down, close enough to whisper. Wait, was he really going to tell him? Ed tilted his head closer. "Another story for another time," Roy said instead, and his smile only widened at the look of outrage Ed shot him as he stood back up and made to retreat back out the door.

"Wait," Ed found himself saying. Roy stopped on his path back outside and turned around. "Are you," Ed swallowed. God, did this man test his resolve. "Are you planning on going back to your universe?"

Instead of the curt reply he was expecting—it must have been a touchy subject—Roy simply smiled, wan and only slightly bitter. "Yes."

Ed felt the knot in his chest, the one he'd been nursing for three years, unfurl. A sudden decompression of pent up pressure and built up stress. Ed looked at Roy and saw something of himself, a year younger. A piece of himself, before the Thule invasion, in the reflected hope in those dark eyes.

"I'll help you," Ed said, through unshed tears and a strained throat. "If you'll let me, I'll help you."

 _And then maybe I can help myself._

Roy walked over and laid a bandaged hand briefly over his own in a gesture of solidarity, and then left the room.

* * *

Alphonse walked quickly through the rush of the Berlin off-work crowd, trying hard not to break into a run. No one looked twice at a thirteen-year old, energetic and lively, pushing against the ebb and the flow of people.

But he wasn't just any thirteen-year old. He knew he was wanted. The Thule Society knew, of course they had known. The guards had seen their faces, plain as day, when they'd been caught before Mustang had incapacitated them, but it was enough. They'd identified them from the government reports on the break-in, and now they were onto them. Their only saving grace was that no one had seen Mustang's face clearly, obscured by light and flame, only knowing that he wore a military outfit and had powers beyond science and understanding.

And he was wanted, too.

He tried to breathe deeply as he wound his way through familiar back alleys, losing the police tail that had been following him since he'd left their contact. He ducked into the alcove of an apartment building and paused to catch his breath.

Brother had to know. Mustang had to know, and he had to get there without being seen. Focus on that, Alphonse.

With that thought, he slipped back out into the streets and sought refuge in the shadows until he arrived back at the apartment, climbing the stairs until he reached their apartment door.

He opened the door to be confronted with the domestic scene of his brother and Mustang chatting amicably about politics and current events. It was astonishingly normal dinner conversation, all things considered. He'd half-expected them to be at each other's throats, half-expected them to suffer each other's company in silence.

"There was the whole Ruhr Invasion too, just a year ago," Ed was saying, waving his hand animatedly. Strange, because Ed was _never_ passionate about politics. "Government failed to pay reparations, France and Belgium decided it was high time to invade and take the resources as recompense."

"I'm liking this government less and less," Mustang said thoughtfully. "That's probably the point, though. The sheer number of parties heralds a politically fractured government, and the sheer number of cabinets gone in eighteen months, fifteen of them, and the dependence on foreign powers in paying off debt—it's clear someone's going to capitalize on this. And I'm almost certain it's the Hitler everyone's talking about. Obvious capitalization on rising nationalist sentiment."

"Never thought of it that way," Ed frowned thoughtfully, staring at Mustang as if looking at him in a new light. "You're such a politician."

"If it helps get you what you want," Mustang said, with a hint of good humor. He looked up from his stew, finally noticing Al in the doorway. He gave him a polite, if slightly warm smile. "Alphonse, welcome back. What did you find?"

That was the 'what's-your-report' tone, Al noted, and restrained the urge to salute. And he'd never been part of the military! But he'd been with his brother in plenty of Mustang's briefings, so there was secondhand experience to be spoken for. "It's not good news, sir. Our break-in was recorded by the police and our descriptions were there, just me and my brother, though. They didn't catch your face. I'm almost certain the Thule Society has gotten wind of it."

"What?" Ed exclaimed, dropping his spoon back into his bowl. "But do they know where we are? We sold the car on the way back here, there's no way they could have traced us here!"

"But we live in a big city, brother," Al said, sitting down at the table beside Mustang and across from his brother. "This will be the first place they look."

"Let's hope they're not smart enough to look in academic papers, shit." Ed ran a hand through his hair. "Fucking desire to leave a mark on the world, and it could be my downfall."

"Brother, it's probably okay, I think." Though Al wasn't sure, himself. "I don't know, do we have to move again?"

"Calm down, both of you." Both he and Ed sat up straight at the demand. Mustang had clearly switched into commanding officer mode, and Al was really glad they had a functioning adult here with them. "They've searched for this long and haven't found you yet. We have a little time. Alphonse, you said they saw me?"

"Yes, but they never caught a good visual of your face. You were in and out of the room too quickly, and the fire obscured a lot. They know you were wearing your uniform, and they know about your ability to use alchemy."

Mustang froze, and a dark look crossed his face. Ed and Al exchanged looks, silently guessing at the man's thoughts. After a moment, he grimaced faintly and schooled his expression into something resembling calm.

"Fullmetal, do you happen to recall the phrase, 'human weapon'?"

"Oh, _shit,_ " Ed cursed, with feeling.

"What, what's the…" It took a moment to register. They'd taken alchemy for granted, thought that everyone could do it, it wasn't special. But they were on the other side of the Gate, now. Now, it was special. "Oh, _shit._ "

"It's good that they don't know my description," Mustang said. How was he so calm? "So I should be relatively safe, for now. But they'll be looking for you both, and if I stay with you, they'll find me. The government and this Thule Society."

"No, no, no," Ed was saying, frantically. His hands grasped the edge of the table, knuckles white with tension. "Out of the question, we're not splitting up. Absolutely not."

"It may be possible to change cities again, but the Society is presumably well-established in Germany. And it's likely they would still send members after you across Europe, though in a lesser capacity," Mustang pointed out, and Al knew his reasoning was faultless. It had been a long time coming, anyway. "Besides, with the political climate being what it is, I believe that getting out of the country would be the best option in the long run. Perhaps to an Allied power, then to America. I doubt word of my alchemy will spread across countries, with how much it resembles mysticism on this side compared to science, though it is always a possibility." He paused. "In the meantime, I would reduce your excursions outside the apartment, at least while they're still on high alert."

 _And if they come, I will leave to protect you both,_ went unsaid.

"I knew this was going to happen, I just didn't want to believe it," Ed said, scrubbing a tired hand across his face. "Fucking Society, fucking power-hungry governments. I read the newspapers, but I was in denial. Me and my dumb fuckup ass."

"I know, brother," Al said, because they thought they'd finally found a home here in their apartment in Berlin. He knew his brother was already thinking about all the people they'd have to leave behind.

"It's okay," Ed lifted his head, and there was that same resolve that had seen them through death and an invasion between parallel worlds. "Because we'll be together, won't we?"

He was looking at them both. Al looked at Mustang to find him looking back at Ed, expression inscrutable.

* * *

Trouble. Trouble seemed to dog his footsteps wherever he went. And he'd brought more to the Elrics.

Roy didn't have a lot of regrets in life. He just had a few, and those few exceptions he regretted deeply _._ Ishval was an obvious contender. Learning flame alchemy was close, but he'd since come to terms with it being a tool of protection rather than of destruction. What he _did_ regret was dragging Riza into his idealistic wreck of a dream. Another was bringing Ed into the military at such a young age, because if he thought about it, that was the catalyst of change determining the course for the rest of Ed's life, and in this life, he'd ended up on the other side of the Gate. He didn't know what end was in store for the Edward of his own dimension, but if it wasn't good, Roy wouldn't have put it past himself to have so thoroughly ruined someone else's life.

He accepted a wet dish handed to him by Ed, who had insisted on helping with the cleanup. He silently polished the dishes and replaced them in the cabinet. The silence stretched between them, not quite tense but not quite comfortable.

Roy could understand. It wasn't easy uprooting yourself from a place you were comfortable with. It was especially hard for Ed and Al, who were consummate wanderers ever since their mother's death.

As they finished up, a series of knocks on the door sounded in a peculiar pattern. A code knock, then. Roy looked up and Ed was already at the door, unlocking the deadbolt to reveal a young girl in her teens or early twenties, with a small basket in her arms.

"Hi, Noah," Ed said, smiling politely. "What's up?"

"Ed, good evening," the girl, Noah, returned. Her eyes seemed unable to make contact with Ed's. "I baked a pie today with Miss Gracia, and I wanted to share a few slices with you and Al."

"That would be great, thank you," Ed said, warming up slightly, and Roy knew from personal experience that Gracia's baked goods were miraculously capable of defrosting any personality, no matter the circumstances. The girl knew what she was doing, whatever she had done. "Do you want to come in?"

"Ah," she said, momentarily indecisive. Roy tried not to look like he was eavesdropping too obviously as he left the kitchen to sit on the couch, where he could still hear their conversation. He picked up a sheet of two of the notes on the bomb to complete his masquerade. After a long moment, he heard her say, "it's okay, it's getting a little late. I should be getting back home."

"Suit yourself," Ed said, and Roy winced. Classic Edward, so insensitive to the feelings of other sentient beings. Couldn't he tell she wanted to talk? Maybe he did, and if so, just what in the world was their history? "See you around, then."

And then the door shut. Roy stood up, dropping the papers back onto the table.

"Roy?" Ed called out when Roy passed him in the hallway, making a beeline for the coat rack. "Going out?"

"It just occurred to me that I don't have much in the way of clothing or toiletries." Roy pulled his coat off the rack and slid his arms through the sleeves. "So I figured I'd go out and buy the supplies now I've got the time." It wasn't a lie, he just had other things on his agenda as well.

Ed's expression lightened in realization. "Oh, I can't believe I forgot about that." He made to step towards Roy, automail arm extended towards the rack, making to pick up his coat. "I'll go with you, I know the stores."

Roy refrained from narrowing his eyes. He knew what Ed was doing, even if Ed himself wasn't aware of it. Ed's protective instinct, commonly directed towards his brother, now found a target in himself, especially in the advent of their dinner conversation. He was on high-alert, but he'd forgotten that Roy was somewhat crafty himself, and had the advantage of alchemy.

"It's fine, I won't be out long." And at Ed's dubious look, Roy snapped his fingers twice, hoping to get the message across. Had to get going, find the girl. "I'll be fine, really."

"If you say so," Ed told him, turning around. Roy thought he was in the clear before the expected "wait, what are you going to pay with?" came.

Roy turned around slowly, smile sly. "Gold, of course." And then he closed the door on Ed's incredulous laughter.

He descended the flights of stairs two steps at a time, half-dashing out onto the street in search of Noah. If the girl had baked with Gracia, it was likely that she was heading back to the shop. It was good that Roy paid attention to directions, and turned to retrace his steps around the city. After a minute of walking, he saw her blue skirt passing around the corner, and he picked up his pace to catch up to her.

Finally, he managed to match her stride, pulling up to her right side. "Excuse me, miss. Are you Noah?" She looked at him, uneasy at first, but then her expression radiated wonder.

"I know you," she said, and stopped walking. Roy skidded to a halt a few paces ahead of her and backtracked.

"Yes, I was at the Elrics' apartment," he explained, but she shook her head, slowly.

"No, I saw you in his memories." And what kind of an explanation was that? She gave him a somewhat wretched smile. "I'm clairvoyant. You're his commander, aren't you?"

Roy had seen many strange things in his time. Given long and deep study in the alchemical sciences, it was practically a given. Chimera, golems, soul bonding, he'd thought nothing would surprise him anymore. But a clairvoyant? And the genuine article? He didn't doubt her veracity, because Edward never associated at least cordially with people who weren't good at heart, and what did that say about himself?

"Yes, but not exactly," he said. Because he hadn't been _this_ Edward's commander. "But I digress. I wanted to chat with you about Edward, yourself, and to learn a little bit about this world." He hoped that he'd laid the charm thick enough to make it easy to agree to his request.

"Yes, that would be nice," Noah agreed, and looked a little less morose than when he'd first seen her. He got the sense that she didn't associate with many people on a daily basis, and was just happy for the conversation.

"Could you tell me a little bit about your history with Edward?" Roy asked, and they started walking again, shoulder to shoulder in the waning light. "How you met, perhaps?"

"He saved me from the Thule Society," she replied, "with a rocket." And that really was classic Edward. "But I did him a great disservice, I know that is what you wanted to ask me about. I betrayed his kindness by reading his mind as he slept, taking his alchemical knowledge to the Thule Society in hopes that they'd send me to his world."

Roy blinked. Noah knew how to cut to the chase, he could give her that. "And now you want to repair your relationship with him?"

"Yes, at the very least," she looked down at her feet, her neat black slippers clacking softly against the cobblestone. "He is kind enough not to shun me again, but we still haven't cleared the air between us, so to speak. I can't find the courage, and he avoids the topic."

Roy sighed. "Sounds like Edward." But he wanted to help this girl, for whatever reason it may have been. Out of the goodness of his heart, or maybe out of a desire to see Ed's life in fewer pieces than it was. Already his mind was running through schemes and plans to catalyze this reconciliation.

"Maybe I can help you with that," Roy said, and gave her his most winning smile. "Both of you. Perhaps meet me tomorrow, in front of the Elrics' apartment at noon if you're free?"

Hope sparked dimly in her brown eyes. "I can, yes." She fiddled with the edge of her sleeve, then looked back up at him. "What is your name?"

"I'm Roy Mustang," he said, and took her hand, shaking it gently in delayed introduction. Something fleeting passed through her expression, and she refocused her attentions on him, brown eyes suddenly sharp.

"You both have history, though they seem to differ," she said, out of the blue. "He has things he's always wanted to say to you, feelings he's wanted to express, but couldn't. And you do too, although the versions of you, they confuse me." And just as quickly as it had come, her courage had fled her. "I'm sorry. It's just… touch. It's been nice to meet you too, Mr. Mustang." And with a whirl of skirts, she disappeared into the crowd.

Roy knew, belatedly, what he'd done. Yet another thing to analyze later, when he had the time.

Right now, he had a state alchemist rule to break.

* * *

Al found Ed in the living room after his long shower, lounging on the sofa and reading through the notes on the bomb. Though it didn't seem like he was reading through them more than going through the motions.

"Hey, brother," Al greeted, approaching the other carefully. Sometimes Ed could have a hair-trigger temper, a trait of which he was infamous for. He knew Ed better than most, but even he couldn't tell whether Ed was waiting for the opportunity to rant or simply wanted to be left alone. No one could say that Ed couldn't be ambiguous when he wanted to be.

"Hey, Al." Ed looked up at him over the papers.

"Find anything interesting?" Al picked up the watering can beside his potted plants by the windowsill. He examined the soil moisture of his three ferns before applying the requisite amount of water.

"Yeah, did you know it's an implosion type fission weapon, it's got like 25 charges and did you know Roy's transmuting gold right now?"

Talk about whiplash conversation topics. Al set down the watering can and made his way over to the armchair adjacent to the sofa Ed was currently occupying. "He's what?"

"I'm glad you asked." Ed lowered his papers to rest on his stomach, and his grin was broad. "Him, dog of the military, enforcer of rules. Transmuting gold and tilting the economy just slightly off its axis."

"That's," Al started. "Is that such a good idea, right now?" The economy wasn't that stable, and he would draw attention if he transmuted too much.

Ed waved a hand at him. "We're talking about Roy, here. Remember? He may be an asshole, but he's a paranoid asshole."

"So it's 'Roy' now," Al observed, and had the distinct pleasure of witnessing his brother's complexion turn a splotchy red. It clashed horribly with his particular shade of blond hair, and that just sent Al further over the edge. "Al! Stop laughing right now!"

"I don't even want to know how that happened," he said, watching his brother's fish impression through his fingers. "Can I call him Roy, too?"

"Probably," Ed said, reaching back and pulling his hair out of his tie. He reclined back down on the sofa when he no longer had to suffer the obstruction of the ponytail. "He's not the General, after all."

Time to bring the topic back up. Al could do this. He stood up to his brother all the time, it was time for that patented Elric courage. "He's not. So you talked to him about wanting to go back?"

"Yeah." And that was surprisingly painless. "He plans on trying to get back. We'll be putting our heads together starting next week. While he's getting himself sorted this week."

"You're helping him?" Because Al was so used to Ed's protests on wanting to go back, he'd admittedly run himself into a mental ditch. He'd just thrown himself for a loop, foiled by his own confidence.

Ed's look bled pure skepticism. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, I don't know," Al said, throwing himself back into the armchair. His brother was so frustratingly complex, sometimes. Not even five years of restored memories seemed to help Al understand him sometimes. "Maybe for the fact that you've argued with me on this same point for at every turn in the last _year._ "

"If you were hoping for a victory," Ed drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes at him. "Here it is."

Oh, brother. "I'm glad, Ed."

"I guess I am, too," Ed replied quietly, and shuffled a sheet of paper from the stack of notes on his stomach to the top.

On it was the transmutation circle used to travel between worlds.


	3. Berlin, Autumn 1924

**A/N:** this week on _'it looked better as an outline'_ , _'are these chapters getting longer',_ and _'is this a character study or a story?'_ here is 13k of me trying and failing to hide my love for fma, hahaha... stay tuned for more gate theory and shenanigans!

* * *

 **Part 3: _Berlin, Autumn 1924_**

"I'm not trained in bomb disposal, Fullmetal."

"I know."

"If this goes sideways, I can't sign an expense report for mild property damage on the military's dime. I hope your apartment's insured. And the city. Maybe the country."

"I _know_ , you great bastard, so just get on with it already! Geez, it's like talking to a brick wall."

In alchemy, the process of transmutation could be summarized neatly in three steps: comprehension, deconstruction, and reconstruction.

Yet despite having spent most of the night and the entirety of the morning poring over the papers, Roy felt they were still lacking in the comprehension department.

Not that it was any indicator of their own combined intelligence, it was just that the notes seemed to be incomplete. Which was to be expected, due in part to the evident complexity of the construction of the bomb and limited knowledge of the element itself. It was, to this world, alien technology, and the researchers of this world had made thankfully little headway. But between the three of them—two being Elrics, which was essentially synonymous with _genius_ —they'd been able to extrapolate the remainder of the yet unknown parts of the schematics.

In the texts that Roy had borrowed from the Elrics, this parallel world provided an interesting technological counterpoint to Amestris' level of modernity. In Amestris, most scientific advancements were tied closely to the goals of the state. And given that Amestris was a military state in a constant state of war with at least three of its border countries, it would be easy to draw the conclusion that most inventions were funded with defense in mind. State Alchemists given to the life of research formed their proposals and yearly assessments catering to the whims of the state.

Though, given the original intention of the State Alchemist program, Roy wouldn't have been surprised if the homunculi had also invested themselves in alchemy knowing it was the only reason why the country was still standing after 400 years of relentless and unnecessary bloodshed.

Earth, it seemed, had a thriving international academic community that leaned strongly towards academic enlightenment, with domestic applications. While not yet commonplace, domestic inventions such as the refrigerator and television were concepts far ahead of Amestris' priorities. And science, here, was universally well-understood by all. Alchemy, conversely, was largely a secret native to Amestris. And if the reports were correct, to Creta as well. But Aerugo and Drachma made no use of it, perhaps even spurned it. Xing had its analogue, but Roy knew very little of alkahestry himself.

Regardless, while the bomb was a tool of war, it wasn't a product of alchemy. Roy had no idea how well the two would mix, and that was precisely the area they were lacking comprehension in.

"Look, we can do it one of two ways. Think like Scar and stop at deconstruction, or transmute it into something different," Ed said, index finger coming down hard on the schematic diagram lying on the coffee table. Roy wished the bomb didn't look like such a morbid table ornament next to their empty mugs of coffee.

"Nobody's tried to transmute a radioactive element into an inert substance before, you know that as well as I do," Roy snapped, because they were hitting the ten-hour mark. But he knew that of all the options, providing it was _successful_ , it was the safest way of ensuring the bomb never traded hands again. "It's still a metal, I know, but the Law of Natural Providence says nothing about the transmutation of unstable elements to stable elements. And I don't fancy suffering a rebound."

Edward positively beamed at him, and, oh, there was that desire to punch him in the face again. "I know. Isn't it exciting? We're _trailblazers_ now."

Alchemists had long since completed their periodic table, thanks to alchemy. It was largely analogous to Earth's hypothesized table, some with slightly different names. Alchemists were easily able to transmute within groups, provided with an initial sample.

"Besides, I think you're thinking about the process path all wrong," Ed said, and there was that infuriating tilt to his grin that Roy was irritatingly coming to be familiar with. Ed was withholding information from him again, a particular trait of this Edward that Roy had seen glimpses of in his younger counterpart. It seemed to have amplified as he'd grown older.

Never mind executing Ed. He was going to eviscerate himself first out of frustration.

"Fullmetal, if you know something, tell me now before I do something we'll both regret."

"This is my field, so watch and learn," Ed said, with no small amount of arrogance. He leaned forward across the coffee table, chin in his hands. "Supposedly, alchemy may not be favorable to transmutation of say, uranium to gold. I still think it would be an interesting experiment to try, but we don't have to do that. Nature's on our side, and what is possible in nature has always been possible through alchemy. Uranium-235 naturally decays to a stable isotope of lead-207. With this model, I'd say that the transmutation of uranium to gold is theoretically possible. And obviously so with lead as an intermediate, but whatever lets you sleep at night."

Roy stared at Ed for a long moment. Then he filched a sheet of paper from under Ed's elbow and wrote down the entire decay series.

"You can be a genius," Roy said, and clapped his hands. He pressed them to the surface of the bomb, and with a flash of light, the transmutation ended and he wasn't suffering from a rebound. "But can you be less of an insufferable one?"

"Careful, Mustang," Ed said, picking up the bomb, now genuinely just an ominous decoration. He tossed it carelessly between his hands. "I might take that as a compliment."

* * *

Al listened to the sound of his brother's triumphant laughter echo from his place in the kitchen and let out a relieved sigh. They'd figured out the bomb? Finally. After almost ten hours of puzzling out the schematics and notes, a year of digging up the bomb's location, and ten refilled cups of coffee later they'd finally achieved their goal.

He'd excused himself to the kitchen to make breakfast and with the intention of escaping their bickering. He regretted little about his decision.

They deserved each other, Al thought, deftly flipping another pancake and revealing its golden-brown texture. They complimented each other well. His brother was unquestionably a genius, a prodigy in every right. His first love was alchemy, but he took to almost every subject with enviable ease. If he so chose to apply himself, there was probably little he couldn't do. Mustang had the edge of experience on Ed, and while it was more common to see him apply his intellect in tactics and strategy, politics and society, he was no slouch in the sciences. But they were both headstrong, and Al knew how difficult it was sometimes to work with his brother. Growing up with Ed had a lot to do with Al's own endless patience.

Put those two in a room and you had a perfect storm. And a headache.

"Breakfast's ready," Al called out, knowing that Ed would blow in before he finished his sentence. Mustang followed in shortly, looking faintly disgruntled.

"Thanks Al," Ed said with no preamble and began shoveling pancakes onto his plate. Mustang thanked him as well and followed suit at a more dignified pace. "We should get a cake or something. We do good work."

"If you hadn't provoked him, we wouldn't have had to do this in the first place," Al pointed out. Ed's face soured, but it didn't douse his overall cheery demeanor. He looked remarkably fresh for pulling an all-nighter, likely because he did so on a regular basis with his work for the university. The same couldn't have been said for Mustang, who looked like he wanted to drop face-first into his breakfast and was seriously considering the possibility. Yet another study in contrasts.

"Yeah, well, no one's perfect," Ed said flippantly, and snagged one of Mustang's pancakes while he was occupied trying not to fall asleep at the table. When Mustang failed to notice the theft, Ed grunted and got up to refill his mug of coffee. He promptly shoved it into Mustang's hands. "Hey, bastard, look alive."

"Forgive me if some people aren't used to all-night cram sessions, we actually like to take care of ourselves," Mustang said, staring at the mug he was handed with suspicion. Eventually, he threw caution to the wind and drank from it. "Thanks."

"Uh huh," Ed said, and pulled over the remainder of Mustang's pancakes for himself. Mustang didn't seem to mind, nursing his coffee.

"I suppose we'll all be taking the day off to recuperate?" Al queried, though Ed still seemed pretty wired from their success. Knowing him, wasn't likely to be sleeping any time soon. There was a flash of something across Mustang's expression.

"I was thinking that we could spend our ill-gotten gains on groceries," Mustang proposed, and Al watched Ed throw him a questioning glance. A shopping trip? It was true that neither of them had taken the time out to shop recently, and their pantry was indeed quite low. But Al didn't want Mustang to feel like he was indebted to them for offering him a place to stay, never mind the fact that it would be temporary until they figured where they'd be moving to. But it was a good idea to stock up, and Al found himself agreeing with the Colonel.

"It's true, we could stand to stock up," Al said, already making a mental list of things to buy. People nowadays tended to buy in large batches as they watched inflation push the prices of goods higher each day. Indeed, prices even seemed to rise by the _second_. "I don't suppose you traded for marks?"

Mustang laughed. "This is the worst case of hyperinflation I've ever seen. No, I traded for US dollars."

"How did you manage that?" Ed gaped. "The government itself can't even afford to pay off its debts in gold anymore, it's hard to believe anyone else can afford the price of gold. And in a foreign currency, too!"

"There's a reason why gold is considered a standard," Mustang explained, smirking at Ed's disbelief. It was likely he was deriving some payback for Ed's showboating earlier. "There are always people looking to invest in it due to its stability, especially in a time like this. I admit I played up the 'inflation's making me sell my family heirlooms' angle. Though it was difficult bartering with a language barrier."

"Well, I'm not going to turn down free food," Ed cheered, backing up out of his chair. "I'll lend you my German textbooks when we get back. _Komm, laß uns gehen!_ "

* * *

Ed was in a very good mood, due in no small part to this morning's triumph.

It was a tremendous weight off his back. Three years of anxiety, reading newspapers for news of nuclear deployment, and reconnaissance at the university had finally paid off. It was a good feeling when you actually did something to contribute to the world. The very same sense of achievement he'd gotten from helping the people in Xenotime, Youswell, and embarrassing as the memory was, Aquroya. That his efforts had lead to improving others' lives. Not like in _Liore_ , the backhanded compliment that it turned out to be. Sometimes good intentions just weren't enough. But Ed let his thoughts stray no further, as today was not a day for regrets.

Mustang was an astonishingly competent research partner, Ed mused. He watched Roy fight to wrestle his arm into the sleeve of his overcoat, still looking faintly dazed from lack of sleep. He'd known, at least abstractly, that he had to have been at least intelligent to pass the State Alchemy exam. But it was another thing to see him work, much less in more technical matters, easily keeping pace with him and his brother—not only in subject matter, but with their dynamic. It was all too easy to forget that before him, the Colonel had been the youngest to become a State Alchemist. If the Colonel and the General were similar enough in this respect, Ed was curious why he hadn't openly displayed his intelligence. He figured that Roy would have gotten more respect as an officer if he had. Instead, it seemed more common to see him washing windows and hiding paperwork.

Ed wondered, for the first time, how much of that lazy persona was a façade.

And if so, _why?_

"You in there, Fullmetal?" Roy waved a hand in his face, yawning. "Food doesn't shop for itself, you know."

"Can it, bastard," Ed fired off automatically, natural in their relationship. "Hope you can put your money where your mouth is, I'm going to eat you out of house and home."

"Considering that we live together now, perhaps it would be a small mercy," Roy muttered, and the three of them filed out the door. Al paused to lock the door behind them, ever responsible, and they made their way down the stairs. He knew that they'd resolved to minimize their appearances in public, and hoped that they'd go unnoticed on this trip.

Nothing could ruin his day. They'd just saved the world from certain destruction.

Then as they stepped off the first floor landing and onto the streets—

"Noah?"

—day ruined.

She looked just as shocked to see him, her brown eyes widening in surprise. Ed saw her look to Roy, almost in deference, and then back down at her feet. Upon seeing her, Roy immediately shed his exhausted air and his entire composure seemed to shift. Bastard looked like a new man, an engaging smile plastered across his face.

"Noah, it's good to see you again this morning," Roy said, all charm and good grace. Ed's mood took a nosedive; the bastard was planning something, and Ed hated being manipulated like no one else. Roy turned to him, and kudos to him, didn't even blink at Ed's scowl. "Ed, I believe you're familiar with this lovely young lady? I ran into her yesterday while I was shopping and she was kind enough to show me around. I thought she'd be a great help today, as well."

"Oh, is that so," Ed said in neutral tones. "It's good to see you, Noah."

Al sighed beside him, but he gave her a polite smile. "Good morning, Noah. Are you going out shopping today, too?"

"Ah, yes," Noah said, nodding quickly. Ed didn't quite buy Mustang's cover story solely by virtue of him being a lying bastard, but the story seemed plausible enough, given that they'd both left around the same time and Noah lived with Gracia near the shopping district. "The prices seem to be lower today than they have been in a few weeks, so I thought it was a good idea…"

Roy hummed, hands in his pockets. And then they were moving together as a group to the marketplace. Roy and Al outpaced him, chatting animatedly about Al's research at the university.

On the brink of autumn, the weather had taken a turn for the cold. Like themselves, citizens had swapped their lighter jackets with thicker outerwear. Central had never been this cold in the autumn, and not nearly as desolate. Germany appeared to be at the peak of hyperinflation, now and he caught a few people pushing around barrows of banknotes. If they could find any place to accept them, that was. Ed wished them luck. Otherwise, bartering with goods had made a comeback, and it wasn't uncommon to see people trading cheese for sausages.

But really, he was just avoiding the problem.

Ed finally let his gaze fall on the girl walking alongside them. He wasn't _angry_ at her, per se. He didn't think he had it in him to ever be angry at her. And it was _always_ difficult to categorize emotions. It was no science, and very little could be neatly compartmentalized away into subjects and areas of discipline. There was the betrayal, yes, of course he was frustrated about that. Because he'd taken her in and then she'd violated the privacy of his mind, only to use his own alchemic knowledge against him so she could leave this world for Amestris.

It was… it was such a selfish action. Not just the wanting to leave, because he could understand feeling ostracized, but she'd known what the Thule society wanted, and didn't care about the destruction of potentially both worlds in favor of escape. Ed was a firm believer of making the best of your circumstances—that she'd even wanted to run, despite saying that she was proud of her heritage, reminded him so strongly of Rosé that he'd almost repeated himself.

 _You'll have to decide for yourself. Walk on your own. Move forward. You've got a strong pair of legs, Rosé. You should get up and use them._

But then she'd followed them to Berlin. And for some reason, she kept on coming back, arms full of flowers and what little goods she could afford in these difficult economic times. Ed wasn't so inept at emotions that he knew she was seeking forgiveness, but Ed was inept enough to not know how to give it. Because he _wasn't_ angry.

It was probably because he envied her initial desire to leave. That he'd resolved to stay and make the best of his circumstances on this side of the Gate, but she'd been willing to throw everything away to _escape—_ to Amestris _._

But now he _was_ going to go home. Eventually. Disliking her on that principle was just hypocrisy. In a year, he'd changed. She'd probably changed, too. He should really take his own advice. So maybe—

"Hey, Noah," Ed said, carelessly so if one didn't pay attention to his tone. "You happen to know what the bastard's planning?"

* * *

Roy snuck a glance back at Ed and Noah as spoke with each other in hushed whispers. Undoubtedly speculating on his dubious intentions for the outing. Good.

Al looked up at him, hazel eyes intelligently taking in his smug demeanor. "Colonel, are you playing matchmaker?"

"When you say it like that, you make me sound like Hughes," Roy chuckled lowly. Because Maes had always been persistent in trying to set him with actual dates, the eternal search for the perfect wife. _Such as my lovely Gracia,_ he would espouse _, and have you seen my daughter today?_ "Perhaps I am."

"Well, I don't think that Ed likes her like _that,_ but I appreciate what you're trying to do," Al said, picking out preserved meats under the watchful eye of their vendor. Roy exchanged a few dollars to the astonishment of their shopkeep. "I arrived after whatever happened between them happened, so I don't really know their history. Ed doesn't like to talk about it."

Roy peered over the crowd in search of the pair. They were at the far end of the market, selecting fresh produce. "He'll feel better about it by the end of the day, hopefully."

"I don't really know what you're getting out of this, Colonel," Al said, with faint bemusement as he followed Roy down the streets. Roy guided them over to the dry products. Flour, salt, sugar, spices. "It's kind of an understatement of how well whatever you've planned has worked, though. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous. I can't seem to ever get brother to do anything that's good for him."

"He hates being manipulated, so it's a tactic best used sparingly," Roy replied, paying for the ingredients. They'd evidently shocked another vendor with their method of purchase, much to Roy's amusement. "But it's just one of the oldest tricks in psychology. Leave them alone together to bond over a common enemy: me. You'd think one of your brother's hobbies was lambasting me on a daily basis."

"Nice one, Colonel," Al nodded, almost approvingly. "You're really something. I think I like you."

"We'll have you convincing him to drink milk, yet," Roy said, hefting the bag of goods in his arms. Mission accomplished. "And please, call me Roy. There's no military here for me to be a Colonel in."

Al beamed, young and radiant, yet still far more mature for his age. And that was why Roy liked Alphonse Elric so much. "Nice to meet you, Roy. I'm Al."

Roy laughed, because talking to Alphonse was almost therapeutic; the younger had that kind of effect on people. "Let's go find your brother."

Noah was apparently teaching Ed how to pick out cabbages, much to his consternation. "So, you want a dense one," he said, lifting one in his automail hand. After a thought, he switched it to his left. "And kind of compact, with no loose leaves." He stared down his nose at the leafy green vegetable sitting innocently in his palm. "What's the point? It ends up in the same place, anyway!"

Noah smiled patiently. She seemed to have experience dealing with Ed, who had little patience for the domestic arts. "Some say it tastes better, and they definitely last longer if they're well-picked."

"Lasts as long as I can empty the pantry," Ed drawled, and spotted their approach. "What did you pick out, Al? Bastard pay for you? Hey, cover me, too, moneybags."

Roy smiled indulgently as he handed over a few more dollars, not even putting a dent into his collected savings. The trend of surprising the locals was never going to get old. "Al and I have gotten everything on our list. Finished with the produce, Ed?"

"Yeah, I think," Ed replied, accepting the sack of potatoes handed to him by Noah. "What's your rush? It's not like you're running out of money anytime soon, you hack."

"It's still prudent to have good financial habits," Roy threw back as they made their way back to the apartment. "Unlike some people with a propensity for property damage."

"Look, everything I destroyed probably deserved to be demolished. For reasons, or for bad taste. And hey, we didn't blow up the apartment!" Ed replied loftily, and Roy was gratified to see his expression lacking the dark shadows of fault when he'd first seen Noah. As was the girl, who was smiling gaily in the daylight. That was one thing Roy loved most about people—drama was inevitable, but when pressed, things almost always worked out. With little to no outside meddling, because that was the thing about proper communication. He relished in the feeling of having done something good.

Soon, they arrived back at the apartment, and Roy turned to Noah before she could bid them farewell. "Would you like to come up for lunch? We could use your help."

Ed squinted at him even as they headed upstairs. "Already making yourself home, Mustang? It hasn't even been two days and you're inviting people over."

"Be nice to Mr. Moneybags. I intend on paying my share of the rent," Roy said serenely and watched Ed throw out his tongue at him childishly as Al opened the door for their party. As they set down their groceries on the kitchen table, Roy turned around to address the room. "We're going to make a pie."

Everyone in the room stopped to look at him with varying measures of incredulity. "We're what?" Ed asked faintly.

"Pie, us. Make," Roy said as if speaking to a child, knowing that it would agitate Edward. It seemed like a good idea yesterday and it still seemed like a good idea now. Even as it seemed too domestic, too much like a team bonding exercise. Like the exercises they made recruits go through in the Academy, eons ago. "Don't give me that look. We have one expert to help us here, and baking is like alchemy. How hard could it be?"

Ed looked resigned, but Roy was well-attuned to reading people. Especially Fullmetal, who wore his heart on his sleeve. There was a light in his eyes that spoke of laughter, a slant to his smile that reminded Roy of a more innocent Edward. Before Nina, perhaps. Certainly before Hughes and Maria Ross.

Al picked through their supplies. "Famous last words, Roy."

* * *

As it turned out, very difficult. Or it might have been _easy,_ if he and Roy hadn't spent so much time arguing over spices. For the record, Ed had been firmly on the side of not adding ginger. Roy apparently _liked_ ginger, the freak.

The only reason why it hadn't actually turned out to be burnt to a crisp was largely due in part to the combined efforts of Noah and Al, whose teamwork was admirable in their attempts to defuse the situation. And as proof of their success, sitting before them was an almost-perfect replica of Gracia's famous pie.

"Some things don't change across universes," Roy said, chewing contemplatively. He looked like a war veteran; though instead of soot smeared across his nose, it was flour. Ed himself wasn't one to talk. They'd had a brief flour battle, and he would say no more on the topic. "It tastes just like her recipe."

"It does," Al agreed, still in almost pristine condition. "I wonder if it's a family recipe or if she made it up?"

"She told me that she'd made it through trial-and-error," Noah said, thoughtfully packing away the remainder of the pie for them. Ed frowned, because he had been halfway to reaching for his fourth slice. "Baking is a bit of a passion of hers, I think."

"This world's Hughes is missing out," Ed said through his mouthful of pie, and saw a brief flicker of a frown on Roy's face before it resolved itself back into indifference. Ed thought briefly of that expression before resolving to speak again, this time to Noah. "Oh, Noah. We're planning on leaving the country soon. It's getting pretty bad. Could you pass that on to Gracia?"

Noah looked briefly stunned before she regained her composure. Her mouth twisted into a wistful smile before she answered. "Of course, Edward. Though, I think she will insist on throwing you a goodbye dinner."

"I'm counting on it," Ed huffed, pushing back his chair to collect their plates. He caught her eye again as he turned away. "Hey, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm the one who is sorry," she said, and Ed knew they weren't talking about leaving the country anymore. She stood up and collected her coat, slipping it on and collecting her portion of their hard work.

"No harm done," Ed said, giving her a wry grin. "I'm just sorry it took so long for me to come around. Thanks for coming by."

Both Al and Roy bid their farewells to her, and with three people, the kitchen was quickly spotless once more. Roy sighed, setting the broom aside. "Well, that was fun. I don't have your stamina, Fullmetal, so I'm going to take this opportunity to pass out cold for the second time in two days."

"Weak!" Ed called after him, as Roy departed to take a shower and then to pass out in his new room. Though truthfully, he couldn't blame him. Ed was feeling the fringes of exhaustion prickling at the edges of his vision, and fatigue was starting to set into his limbs. At least, the non-mechanical ones. But before he followed suit, he had to know.

"Al, were you in on this?" Al looked up from the pile of dishes in the sink, looking faintly guilty.

"No, I wasn't," Al admitted, and waved the dishcloth at him. Ed sighed and accepted the rag. "I didn't even know he was planning on anything until we were at the market."

"He looked smug, didn't he," Ed said, and it wasn't a question. He knew Roy would have been smug after an achievement like that. "Why'd he do it?"

"I don't know," Al said, pausing in his task. "But I think he did it for you."

* * *

Not even a week after Roy had first come to this strange, new universe, he was attending another one of Gracia's family dinners. It was almost like he'd never left Central.

In the intervening days since, Roy had taken his time exploring the new world he was in. It was far more than just scientific curiosity that lead him to wander the streets of Berlin, taking in the sights and mood of the populace. He was in an entirely new _universe._ The concept itself was absurd, but here he was anyway. He'd never felt more like a tourist, wide-eyed and gawking at the sights and sounds. It went beyond saying that the country was suffering. Even the outlandish, unbelievable situation with the homunculi back home seemed almost comedic compared to the visceral reality of a country struggling in the aftermath of war, the pressures of running a country through mundane economics and flagging politics.

It was, in short, _depressing._ And while it made Roy incredibly homesick, it also tugged at his heartstrings. The part of him that wanted the best for everyone—the same part of him that was drawn to the military in order to do good—demanded that he throw his lot in with these people and drag them screaming out from their depression. It took every effort to remain focused; he had a duty to his people, to Amestris, already.

But even so, there was something like beauty in this gritty, bedraggled country. Like a diamond in the rough, overflowing with potential. Like Amestris.

Edward had been treating him differently as of late. And Roy, for all his social prowess, found him _unreadable._ And that was unthinkable for someone as open as Fullmetal.

Ever since that the day that he'd coerced him to reconcile with Noah, more than once he'd caught Ed staring at him, assessing. Like he was a puzzle or a particularly difficult alchemic research project. He could understand this, in part. Because who wouldn't want to suss out the differences between the Roy you knew and the Roy you suddenly found yourself living with? Roy himself was guilty of the same—he was trying hard not to see Ed as his own Edward, or as his subordinate. Which wasn't overly difficult, because Ed was clearly older and maintained a distinctly different appearance to help him divorce his attitudes towards the young man.

But Ed had shown none of that interest in the first two days, so Roy could only conclude that he was guessing at his motivations for helping him fix his relationships.

That wasn't the only thing. Roy was suddenly thrown by the subtle shift in their dynamic. Oh, Ed would still snap if Roy poked fun at his height or at his bottomless stomach. But it often took a second attempt, now, to rile him up. The sudden tolerance for his usual bullshit seemed to have increased twofold and Ed was doing downright _nice_ things for him out of nowhere.

Bringing him coffee when he was reading, offering books on language and history, offering to _practice German with him_ when he wasn't at the university. Sometimes he stayed up late just to catch Roy in a conversation of politics, a custom that Roy had to admit he enjoyed. But Fullmetal _hated_ politics, so was this just Edward practicing equivalent exchange?

And Roy would be lying if he said he didn't like this new, courteous, non-bratty Fullmetal. But he couldn't figure out if his intention was to be a good host or whether Fullmetal had suddenly accepted him as part of his flock, bunched in with his brother. Like he was coddling him in his strange, Edward-like way.

Or maybe that was just what friendship was like with Edward Elric. Roy had always wondered what it would have been like to have a relationship with the young man beyond superior and subordinate and their usual antagonism. Here, apparently, was his answer.

Gracia was bringing out homecooked dishes, many of which were of the local German culture. Roy had to confess that he had very little idea of the nomenclature of the dishes, but braised meat, sausages, and bread he could recognize. And knowing Gracia, even her alternate universe version self, it was almost certain that it was going to be good. He and Elrics had brought over a few loaves of bread, and Al had taken it upon himself to contribute some sweet pan-fried cakes with the leftover ingredients from their pie debacle. Noah was setting out plates, and Ed was beside himself salivating over the fresh dishes.

"I'm so glad to see you again, Roy," Gracia said to him in her accented English. Roy had since learned that English was this world's equivalent of Amestrian and Chinese the equivalent of Xingian. It was unfortunate that he couldn't speak German.

"Likewise, Gracia." Roy smiled. Like Alphonse, talking to Gracia was a therapeutic exercise. "It's very good to see you again. And especially so with the wonderful dishes you've cooked for us."

"Oh, you flatter me," Gracia blushed prettily with the praise and Roy suddenly found his foot assaulted under the table. Automail foot. Had Fullmetal no mercy? "I'm sure you boys are just as good at cooking, with what Noah's told me."

"It's just Al," Ed said, already tucking into his sausages and potatoes. "I don't really know how to cook for shit. I can do waffles. Bastard can cook, though. He made stew and meatloaf."

"Just enough to survive. What I'm capable of pales in comparison to Gracia's skill," Roy said, piling on the praise and _ow_ , automail fist. "I don't usually have the time to cook, anyway. I'm usually too busy to cook for myself, so I live mostly off takeout."

"Roy, that can't be good for you," Al told him, and Roy felt mildly abashed being chastised by a thirteen-year old boy. Eighteen in spirit, and that was what counted. "You should ask for time off for yourself."

"Alas, paperwork waits for no one," Roy said with a plaintive sigh, deliberately overdramatic. Ed let out a scoff through his mouthful that sounded suspiciously like derision, or 'yeah, right.' There was a knock on the door, and Gracia excused herself to answer it. Roy paused before setting down his fork. Another guest? As far as he knew, the dinner had been meant primarily as a farewell party for the three of them.

And then, a man with the face of his long-dead best friend walked in.

Roy was wrong about this world.

It was hell. He was in hell and this was purgatory, where he would be judged for his sins and tortured with familiar faces. No ice ran through his veins, no glacial feeling of fear took over his body: no, it was all _fire._ Fire, fire, his weapon of choice. The hot, searing feeling of hatred that beckoned every time he thought of Hughes' murderer, every time he looked at his picture and thought of _revenge_. The burning shame that accompanied it, that he'd failed to protect a friend; the roiling feelings of regret, for involving him too deeply.

Yes, he was in hell.

"Good evening," the man said, and even the accent and the almost-uncomfortable formality didn't dispel the spectre of Maes Hughes. Familiar-unfamiliar hazel eyes evaluated him, the newcomer of the group. "Hello, I don't believe I've met you before."

 _And I've never met you, but I know you. And I failed you._

"Nice to meet you," Roy managed, but it came out so stilted, even _Ed_ had peered up from his dinner. "I'm… Roy."

Help came from an unexpected source—Ed had interrupted to complete his introductions, while Roy tried to hide how shallow his breaths had become. "Um, yeah, this is Roy. He's our new housemate. We came from the same country, and we countrymen gotta stick together, right?"

Hughes' double nodded, and dinner proceeded onwards. But it was wooden, awkward conversation, because they were sensitive to his discomfort. Until Roy could bear it no longer and excused himself, standing up during a lull in conversation. No time was more appropriate than now.

"Excuse me," Roy said, with a smile so false it could have been manufactured. "I believe I had some business to take care of at home. Thank you very much for the lovely dinner, Gracia. And it was nice meeting you, officer." He didn't dare say his name. "Ed, Al, I'll see you back at the apartment."

Between fight-or-flight, Roy chose to indulge the latter, and swiftly left the small townhouse. Because this was one doppleganger he couldn't stand seeing.

* * *

Of course he hadn't gone back to the apartment. And of course the first person to find him was Hughes. He always had.

A gentle tap on his shoulder pulled Roy from his intense focus on his drink—diluted and overpriced whiskey, the best he could get in a bar during these times. Roy squinted though the haze of alcohol and found the chaotic reflection of himself in Officer Hughes' glasses. The same frames Maes had worn, and the similarities were going to kill him. Roy picked up his glass again, fully intent on ignoring the other, when a hand on his wrist gently guided the glass back onto the surface of the bartop.

"I heard," the officer said, but then he furrowed his brows in before amending his statement. His accent—and his English—was worse than Gracia's. But not by much. "Sorry, I know. Edward said you were countrymen. Which meant you're from Shamballa." He paused to find the words and let go of Roy's arm when he was sure that Roy wasn't going to yank the glass to his lips anymore. "Edward told me that there are parallel versions of people on both sides? I'm sorry. It must be difficult, I understand." The officer made to move away, feet pointed towards the door. "I wanted to make sure you were all right, and to apologize."

No, no. Maybe he was a masochist, but now that he was here, he couldn't just _leave._ Roy reached out, almost unthinkingly, and grasped at the sleeve of Hughes' uniform. The officer blinked at him in confusion before settling on the barstool.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Roy said, surprisingly clearly considering that he was halfway into his second drink. "I should be sorry for the way I ran out. It was terribly rude of me, and a bad way to make a lasting impression on both you and Gracia."

Another difference between Officer Hughes and Maes was that he was terribly proper. Maes was loose, humorous when Roy needed it, serious when Roy needed it. Even so, Officer Hughes looked away, slightly abashed, at the mention of Gracia. Some things just didn't change across universes.

"The way you reacted," Officer Hughes began, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "Something bad happened to my double?"

"You look like my dead best friend," Roy said, because that was evidently the best way to break the news to said friend's alternate universe double. He watched Hughes' eyes widen behind his spectacles. "He was murdered." And boy, did Roy get his kicks out of surprising people. But yes, Roy conceded that this Hughes had been fairly sharp to have figured that out from his reaction, concluding harm instead of simple nostalgia. Another trait he shared.

"I'm sorry," Hughes said again, and Roy shook his head.

"Not your fault," Roy laughed, shaky. It wouldn't even have stood up against a faint breeze. "I just can't believe you're real. Forget crossing universes, I could pretend I went back in time." Too far; he couldn't lose himself now. "Tell me how you know the Elrics."

"I was part of the group that sought to open the portal to Shamballa, the Thule Society," Officer Hughes explained, and Roy couldn't quite hide his shock. The officer caught the flinch and gave him a wry look. "Something my double wouldn't do? I know. I was also part of the National Socialist party."

"I understand," Roy murmured lowly, thinking about the promises shouted on the streets almost around the clock. In a strange twist of fate, instead of supporting Roy's bid for power, this Hughes had bought into another's vision. "You believed their assurances, and considering how bad it had gotten, any way out had to be better than none."

The officer nodded, accepting his analysis and looking openly regretful. "Yes, I bought into their propaganda. The racism, the so-called racial purity of Germany. And even the magic," Hughes recalled, with obvious revulsion. He seemed to be citing a specific memory. At Roy's curious look, he expanded on the statement. "Alchemy, you call it. But I saw what it did to Dietlinde. She went mad with power when she left for the other side, and I'm not sure that she was wrong."

"Wrong about what?" Roy queried, because he'd heard little from Ed about Eckhart, much less her last words.

"That your world was an abomination that needed to be destroyed," Hughes said. "There's something to be said about power in the wrong hands. That every person in your world has the ability to become what Eckhart become is terrifying." Roy opened his mouth to protest, because hey, that was his world they were talking about. Well, not _his,_ but the alchemic world in general. Officer Hughes was one step ahead of him. "But if people like Edward came from it, I suppose it can't be all that bad."

The edge of Roy's lip quirked up. "You did that on purpose."

The officer laughed. "Yes, I did. But Edward did his best to destroy the portal, with our help. A great many of the Society turned to help destroy it, after Eckhart." His gaze turned serious. "I've since been looking out for them, because I know that there are members of the Society that still believe in the power of Shamballa. And radical groups are appearing all over Northern Germany, now. Gracia insisted on getting out of Munich since the putsch, and I had to follow. I try to keep the brothers informed, now, but not from within the party. I couldn't go back to that. From within the government. I pass along news of the National Socialists when I can and try to keep them off the government's radar."

Roy thought briefly of Olivier, playing double agent for them among the higher ups. It was no easy task being an informant, and he was glad that Hughes had decided against endangering himself so. "Thank you. For looking out for them, that is. They need to be looked after, they're still young."

Hughes waved his concern off. "Yes, but they are very capable boys. To have them on our side of the portal, it may be more accurate to say that they're looking out for us."

Roy laughed, because that was true. "Sounds like the Elrics." A brief silence passed between them and Roy sipped more sedately at his glass. "So, _Gracia_."

Hughes' expression took a turn for the bashful, and Roy's smile became positively wicked. To tease a Hughes who flushed at the mere thought of his love interest instead of bragging about her, it was an opportunity that Roy could not pass up.

"Unfortunately, I met her while I was in the party, and my beliefs reflected that of the party's," Hughes sighed. "She has a kind heart, and even before she had taken in Noah, a gypsy, she would never have tolerated those beliefs. I'm trying to make up for it, and she is very understanding about what happened, but you know what they say about first impressions. That I was invited to dinner today was a surprise for me."

"Really?" Something about that last statement sounded suspect, but Roy was honestly in no state to think about the implications. "Well then, let me dispense some lady advice for you."

"You would?" Hopeful eyes stared out at him from behind rimmed lenses. Roy laughed. Of course he would. He would do a great many things for Hughes' happiness. And Roy knew that if this went any longer, the dam holding back all his emotions would break, and he didn't want Hughes to see him like that, not even the alternate version of him. He'd never wanted Hughes to see him like this, but Hughes had been his support anyway, until he was gone.

"Compliment her cooking," Roy said, rolling his wrist and watching the amber liquid swish around the glass. "Ask her to teach you about the meanings of flowers." Roy threw down the rest of his drink and smirked. "And be nice to Noah. She's pretty much adopted her."

The officer looked like he wanted to take notes, but he nodded eagerly anyway. "Thank you." He looked down at his wristwatch, and Roy pulled out his own pocket watch to check the time. Just after twenty-two hundred. He let it fall out of his hands, and it clattered gently onto the bar to rest beside his empty glass. Roy signaled for a refill, and the officer sighed in almost-disapproval as the bartender approached once more. "I have a shift now, so I have to leave. Will you be all right?"

"Go get her," Roy waved him off, smirking at his embarrassment. "Have a good night."

"You too," Hughes returned, and then he got up and waved to someone else at the far end of the bar. Roy turned around, curious, and found himself face-to-face with the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Fullmetal," Roy drawled, and watched Edward flinch slightly at the use of his codename. Roy narrowed his eyes. He'd used it deliberately in the tone he'd used as a superior officer to determine the problem. The younger alchemist was surely feeling guilty about something. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"You didn't go home," Ed replied evasively, gingerly settling down on the adjacent barstool with his back against the bar surface. "I was—I mean, all of us were worried about you."

"I'm fine, Ed," Roy fluttered a hand dismissively and watched Ed's expression twist into a grimace. "Go back to the apartment, I'll be back..." Roy paused for dramatic effect, " _shortly_."

Ed's frown matured into a full-blown scowl, and he swiped the glass of whiskey from Roy's dangling fingers, downing the remainder of the glass in one shot. Ed's face contorted in pain as moderation was foregone in favor of bravado, and he gagged a little before speaking again, rasping through his words. "Knock it off, bastard, I'm too old for your short jokes."

Roy raised his eyebrows. "Impressive, but are you even old enough to drink?"

"I'm nineteen, you ass," Ed slammed the glass down back onto the bar, gaining the attention of the barkeep and most of the bar's occupants. Ed waved them off with an irritated gesture. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "Almost twenty. So shove it."

Roy let out a put-upon sigh, settling an elbow on the surface of the bar and resting his cheek in his palm. "So you won't leave me alone. What do you want?"

"I…" Ed ran a hand through his bangs, gaze averted. He was basically fidgeting. Roy sighed and took pity on him.

"He stole my quiche."

Because that was the greatest non-sequitur in the history of non-sequiturs. It must have been the drink speaking, but he was feeling melancholy and Ed looked like he wanted to hear a story. And for some reason, Roy found that he hated to see that lost, guilty expression on the younger man. So here they were, and Roy was going to do this.

"What?" Ed said, startled. He sat up straighter, frowning.

"In the Academy," Roy clarified. "We met in the canteen, and I was going for the last slice of quiche. You know what he said?" And at Ed's blank look, Roy affected Hughes' casual, joking way of speaking. " _'Sorry pal, spinach quiche is my favorite. Just can't resist it, you know_.'"

Ed blinked at him for a long moment, and Roy was briefly concerned that he might slide off the barstool. Then he cracked a disbelieving grin, bright across his face. "Holy shit, Mustang, that was a really good impression of the Major!"

Of course it was. When you were friends with the man for almost ten years, with that voice talking in your ear about his wife and daughter almost day in and day out, you picked up some things. Even if some of it was sometimes for show.

"Thanks," Roy said dryly. He reached for the glass again, but Ed pulled it away.

"That's like your third glass, Mustang," Ed lectured him, and Roy frowned.

"How did you know—"

"So you probably hated him, right?" Ed said quickly. So that was how it was going to be, Roy thought, smiling faintly. "If you were rivals, how did you become friends?"

"Heathcliff Erbe," Roy said, and that was a name associated with bitter memories. But it was still a fond memory, so Roy found himself willing to continue. "He was an Ishvalan cadet alongside me, and he wasn't well liked among the recruits. So I caught a bunch of Maes' friends beating him up in an alley one day." Roy let a smirk flit across his face, nostalgic. "So I decided to get involved. With my fists."

"You're not the best at hand-to-hand, Mustang," Ed said, dumbfounded. Roy supposed he was still digesting the idea of him getting physical—it wasn't a style of fighting he used much, mostly because flame alchemy required little one-on-one engagement. "You didn't lose, did you? Where was Hughes in this? With his friends?"

"Believe it or not, Ed, the military does train us in hand-to-hand. Though not as rigorously as your teacher," Roy replied, and observing Ed's almost instinctive flinch at the mention of his teacher. He'd never had the pleasure of meeting Izumi Curtis, but from the rumors, she was surely a fearsome woman. And if reports were correct, also fighting with them on the Promised Day. "As it turned out, Hughes walked in on my spectacular beatdown and pulled a gun on me and Heathcliff, telling us to move away from his friends. But surprise," Roy waved an index finger in the air, punctuating his statement, "he turned the gun on his own friends. And rushing at them and beating them up together was a bonding experience if nothing else."

Perhaps it was easier, telling Fullmetal these things. Because he was at the same time the Edward he knew and not. He knew him, or the outline of him, but not. And he knew, eventually, that they would part. His secrets would not follow him back to his own world, a stamp of confidentiality, as he let out all the things that burdened him.

It was to his bemusement then, that Edward let out a small chuckle. Then Ed seemed to realize that they were talking about Hughes, and then his demeanor became reticent once more. Roy frowned, because that had been the exact opposite reaction he'd been trying to incur. Roy had completely forgotten that he'd left his pocket watch out on the table, brought back to his attention when Ed reached out and picked it up with gloved fingers. He seemed to note the time and closed the watch cover. Then an insistent look of curiosity swept over his expression, and he extended an automail finger to tap at the case of the watch. Metal clanged against metal through the fabric of his glove, making a dull tapping noise.

"What's this?" Ed asked, turning the watch around to show him the crest of the Amestrian dragon, tip of the finger poised just under the most forward claw. Roy's lips thinned at the sight of it.

"A dent," Roy said shortly, and Ed shot him an unimpressed look. "What, you want another story? I've already told you one. Two is just being greedy."

"I want to know," Ed demanded, then evidently thought better of it. "Sorry, I get it. You don't have to tell me."

Roy blinked, because he'd expected him to steamroll the information out of him. That was what sixteen-year old Ed would have done, so somewhere in three years' time this Edward had learned manners.

Perhaps it was fitting, Roy thought, for him to tell Edward about Ishval when he'd so ardently avoided the topic to the version back in his own universe. Eventually, he'd wormed the story out of Riza, so maybe this was divine justice. If it wasn't, fine, he'd blame it on the drink. It was always easier to blame it on the drink.

"How much do you know about the Eastern Rebellion?" Roy started, and Ed looked up at him from the watch, eyes plainly revealing his surprise. "Or how much did my other self tell you about Ishval?"

"I know what's common knowledge," Ed said cautiously, like this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance. It probably was, honestly. "That tensions in Ishval lead to the order of extermination, and that the introduction of the State Alchemists brought the war to a swift end. You—or your other self—said only that you did a lot of things that you regretted in Ishval."

Another constant. "He is right. Because I— _we_ murdered thousands of innocents there." Roy snorted. "And all for nothing. Pawns in the game of the homunculi. Alchemy was meant to help the people, but all I did was kill. And flame alchemy is especially good at destroying."

A dawning realization crossed Ed's stricken face. "Human weapons."

"Yes," Roy said, closing his eyes to the sympathy in Ed's face. He didn't need it. He'd atone for it, soon enough. "That dent came from Ishval. I had cleared off a roof of insurgents with a blast of fire, and I went up to survey for survivors. I found Heathcliff." And because his eyes were closed, he couldn't see Edward's expression. "He'd been shielded mostly by the entrance to the roof, and he recognized me. He shot me." Roy pointed at his chest, the exact place in his ribcage where the shot had landed. "That watch saved me. And Hughes, who'd followed me up and shot Heathcliff while I was down. I was offered a replacement, but I fixed it myself and left that small dent as a reminder, mostly."

" _Don't_ _forget_ ," Ed breathed, and Roy opened his eyes again to the sight of Edward Elric, for once in his life wide-eyed and speechless.

"I suppose so," Roy said only, and reached out with the intention of taking the watch from Ed's hands. Roy frowned when Ed evaded him, the watch still settled firmly in his grasp.

"So Hughes was with you in Ishval," Ed said, finally. "Did you… did you ever figure out how he died?"

Roy took in a sharp intake of breath. Because in reality, it had only been six days for him since _Envy._ "There may be differences between our worlds, but in my case, it was Envy."

"Envy?" Ed echoed, first in disbelief, then in understanding. " _Envy_. Of course. He shapeshifted."

"I was so angry when he confessed," Roy spat out, because the wound was still open, bleeding and raw. Even in the aftermath, when it had been revealed that Envy's particular brand of sadism and misanthropy stemmed from his envy of humans. "I was just—" Roy snapped his fingers quickly, almost violently, three times in succession; a mimicry of his pursuit of the homunculus. "He'd taken Gracia's form when he shot him. Even as I pity him for his jealousy of humans, that was just too cruel. I was going to take my revenge with his death, but ironically enough, you stopped me." Roy let his mouth form into a wry expression. "Well, my universe's version of you. And the Lieutenant. Said I couldn't lead the country with that face."

"Lead the country?" Ed repeated faintly, and Roy could almost see the cogs of the young prodigy's mind turning, working in overdrive. After a moment, Ed's eyes became bright with comprehension. "Mustang," Ed said, a gloved hand over his mouth and eyes downturned and staring at the watch, "you're a fucking idealist, aren't you?"

"And it only took a drunken conversation with you to figure me out," Roy said, voice wry. "Satisfied?"

"No, I'm not fucking satisfied," Ed hissed, and Roy was astounded to find genuine vitriol reflected in burning golden eyes. "See how it feels to have an entire decade of thinking you were a complete and utter bastard overturned when really, it was all fucking smokescreen."

"Isn't this a bit of an overreaction?" Roy said, because he didn't really know how interpret this situation. Ed wasn't angry at something that he'd done so much that he was angry at who Roy was.

"No," Ed raged, turning in his seat to fully face him. It took a few seconds, but he'd eventually schooled his expression into something like calm, partially thoughtful but mostly just controlled frustration. "And your entire team knew about your goals? Everyone but me? Was _I_ not part of your team?"

The more this went on, the more Roy strafed towards confusion. "Of course, though keep in mind that I technically wasn't your commanding officer. Even so, I don't see how my goals had anything to do with your quest for the stone." Roy paused, and thought maybe a fourth glass might be in order. "My universe's version of you actually extracted the story from my Lieutenant, and even managed to force a promise out of me."

Ed heaved a large breath and finally stilled, preternaturally calm. The night was seriously growing more bizarre as it went on.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye was in Ishval with you? Like Hughes, too, and she also knew?"

There was a destination in mind, Roy thought, with these questions. Ed was grasping at something, but Roy couldn't see it. He'd never spoken this much about himself before in so many sentences in his _life._ But it was cathartic, in a way, to get the weight of his problems off his chest. Because outside of going to Hughes' grave and talking at his headstone, there were few he could look to in the interest of having an outlet for his frustrations. His subordinates needed a leader, not an agglomeration of weaknesses. Riza would have understood—and likely the only person who understood him best after Maes—but he hated putting more on her shoulders especially after he'd roped her into his plans. And while Hughes would have pried it out of him, Riza respected his privacy, which was as much a blessing as it was a curse.

"I was her father's apprentice," Roy said, answering mostly out of a damning curiosity to know where Ed was going with this. Hell, once he went back to his own universe, it would essentially be like this conversation had never happened, anyway. "I'll spare you the specifics, because the Lieutenant's familial business is her own. But at his funeral, I told her I was going to serve in the military to, as you put it, be an idealist. Imagine my reaction when I found her in Ishval."

"I can't believe your life, sometimes," Ed dropped his head into a hand, shoulders slumped forward.

"So yes, she knew. And she didn't resign." Roy sighed tiredly, half-lidding his eyes and peering at Ed through a messy fringe. "I asked her why, and she told me that we, as soldiers, had to shoulder the burden of suffering for innocents to live freely. So I asked to her become my personal adjutant, to watch my back. And to stop me if I strayed from the path."

 _And forgive me, Lieutenant, for going where you couldn't follow._

Ed brought his head out of his hand to stare at Roy's pocket watch for a long moment. Roy watched him carefully, beyond curious what he'd derive from his truncated life story. Roy supposed it was only fair, in part, because he'd known everything about the Elrics from the start. Though not this Ed's, because as a consequence of coming from different universes, their stories were divergent. But this Ed now knew everything about this Roy, and the part of Roy that liked dangerous things—liked to play with fire—wanted to see what he would do with the information now that he had it.

Ed stood up from his barstool and pocketed Roy's watch.

"I—that's my watch," Roy said, dumbly.

"No shit, Mustang," Ed said, and the little brat was _grinning._ "Now you said that the other me had made you a promise. I'm gonna make you one, too."

"With my own watch?" Roy spluttered. "Isn't that stealing?"

"Shut up for a second," Ed said, leaning forward into his personal space. Roy instinctively leaned back at the intrusion. Ed reached out to poke him hard in the chest with a finger. "This is like your promise to your country, right? I'm going to keep it for now. And I'll give it back to you when we get you back there. Because we _will_ get you back there, so you can do your thing and be all fucking optimistic and shit. And because the Lieutenant's not here, I'll watch your back for you in the meantime, got it?"

"Is this really happening?" Roy couldn't help but ask as Ed herded him out of his seat and towards the door.

"Yep," Ed said genially, shoving him none-too-gently outside and just as quickly bracing him before he stumbled into a sewer grate.

"Are you sure you don't miss having your own pocket watch?" Apparently the alcohol was choosing now as the opportune moment to impair his motor functions because he very nearly stumbled over his own feet. Only Ed's sturdy grip on his arm kept him from falling.

"Not really," Ed scoffed. "Not unless I was waving it around people who were unwilling to believe that a kid was a State Alchemist."

"Have it your way," Roy shrugged, but couldn't quite wipe the smile off his face. That promise, it was such an _Edward_ thing to do. "But I expect its safe return. I do need it for work, you know."

As they walked underneath the starless sky and past darkened windows, a comfortable silence settled upon them. So it was then that Roy was startled by the slight clearing of a throat from his left. Ed was looking at him, contrite, and in a sudden burst of insight Roy knew he was going to reveal whatever had been causing him so much guilt earlier.

"I was the one who invited Officer Hughes to the party," Ed confessed, so softly that it was just barely audible. "So I'm sorry about ruining your evening and everything."

Roy couldn't help it; the way laughter bubbled, effervescent, from the bottom of his chest. " _Edward_ , you shouldn't have." And if it came out more flirtatiously than it should have, then he'd still blame it on the drink. "What did I do to deserve such consideration?"

Perhaps Ed had never been on the receiving end on such a tease, but even in the low light Roy could see the bright red flush that painted Ed's face. "You did that thing, four days ago. You know, pretty much helping me get over my shit with Noah, because apparently I'm too incompetent to handle my own relationships without being manipulated into it. It was really dumb. I just," Ed sighed, picking at his gloves, "I kind of wanted to return the favor. Equivalent exchange. Because seeing Gracia seemed to help, I thought seeing Hughes might have the same effect. But I miscalculated pretty badly." Ed shoved his hands into his pockets in a single, frustrated motion. "Shows how good I am at people."

"How about we talk about things like adults instead of manipulating each other into messes in the future," Roy suggested, and Ed looked up at him sharply. His entire posture seemed to relax in a show of relief at the implicit extension of forgiveness.

"Sounds like a plan." Ed punched his arm lightly in a show of mutual understanding. Roy managed a smile as he rubbed at the affected area, and they continued down the route back home.

In truth, Roy thought Ed's attempt at restitution may not have been much of a loss at all. That it wasn't so much the act of seeing Hughes more than the act of talking about him, and by extension, his problems, that had truly helped. He felt like he'd underestimated the effect of talking about his problems, putting them into words. Now that it was out in the open, he felt like he was a step closer to accepting Maes' passing, and further away from the shadows of Ishval. He could possibly even work up the courage to speak to Riza about it when he returned.

Roy caught the glimmer of the watch chain in the moonlight, spilling from out of Ed's pocket. It was the thought that counted. That was what mattered the most, and sometimes, good intentions were just enough.

When they eventually parted, Roy thought he might just miss Ed. The benefit of erasure with their separation suddenly didn't seem so much like a boon, anymore.

* * *

"Hey, bastard," Ed greeted, slightly muffled behind the piles of books he was carrying. He deposited them unceremoniously onto the coffee table. Roy watched despondently as a few books tumbled to the floor. "Back from the university library. Got some books on the countries we were thinking about moving to. Al's still poking through storage, see if any of Hohenheim's stuff might help us."

Roy quickly set his mug of tea onto a clear space of the coffee table before Edward could manage to knock it out of his hand. The way he threw himself onto the couch beside him did not bode well for hot liquids. Roy sighed and picked up the closest book on France.

It had been three days since their disastrous gathering and Roy's embarrassing bout of sentimentality. Roy had managed to apologize to both Noah and Gracia for running out on them, and though Gracia was unaware of the existence of parallel world counterparts, she was still extremely understanding. He'd returned somewhat baffled with another bouquet of flowers—multicolored carnations this time—now sitting in the glass vase on the kitchen table and replacing the daffodils from his first day here. While Ed and Al gathered information on where to go before potentially jumping ship to America, Roy had been spending his time sifting through newspapers and gossip in hopes of gauging domestic and international political conditions.

"I still think England's our best bet," Ed said, thumbing through the book on Switzerland. "Hohenheim worked for Churchill when I was first here. He may still have some contacts in London that might be able to help us with immigration papers."

They weren't the first to think of leaving Germany—in fact, political tensions between the National Socialists and the government had been rising since the putsch, though emigration would likely not peak until the National Socialists took power. As Roy saw it, with no other strong contenders, it was almost an inevitability. Versailles had weakened the government's economic ability, the presence of socialist elements and Jews in the government would provide the National Socialists with enough fodder to decry the failing government in line with their ideology, and their leader was enviably charismatic. The rest would be up to historiography to decide.

"You might be right," Roy replied, and exchanged the book for the one on the United Kingdom. "Though most emigrants from Germany have chosen border states."

Edward leaned over his shoulder to examine Roy's book. "I'm pretty sure that Hohenheim has a few correspondences we can use from storage."

"Mm," Roy hummed absently, reading through the book's section on the country's recent history. He nearly dropped the book when he felt a cheek press against his shoulder. "Edward?"

"I've been thinking," Edward said, drawing out three sheets of paper from his personal journal. His head still rest where it lay against Roy's arm, and he showed no inclination of removing himself. "About the transmutation circle we could use to get you back to your universe." Roy laid the book down and accepted the papers from Ed, each marked with a different transmutation circle. The first one, he recognized immediately. It took half-a-minute of examination of the others before it hit him.

"These are all human transmutation circles," Roy said with some alarm, looking down at Ed. Ed was scratching out a new circle in his notebook, with elements of the second. "One is the one you used to transmute your mother, and the two others I don't recognize, but…"

"Yeah, but they were all used to summon the Gate, at least in my circumstances," Ed explained, still penning out his new creation. "The six-pointed star is of Hohenheim's design, and the last one, of Al's design. Because the Gate always opens when human transmutation is attempted, a homunculus is created or returned, or if activated on the body of an infant. All but Hohenheim's required the sacrifice of a homunculus or human being, and only then to create a stable portal, so I think we should start there. The old man always did know more than he was telling."

Human transmutation was not an area Roy knew much about, so most of what Ed had told him was news to him. And if anything, the Elrics were the foremost experts on the subject, though not through personal preference. He wondered which parts were specific to this world's alchemy, but before they discussed this further—

"I have a theory," Roy said slowly, and Ed's pen stopped moving in his journal. "It doesn't really have evidence, not really."

"Little about inter-dimensional travel has evidence," Edward said, sighing against him. But he seemed to be listening. "Trailblazers, remember?"

"I came from an alternate Amestris, not an alternate Earth," Roy began, and Ed turned to the next page in his journal, fresh and blank. He began to diagram Roy's explanation in labelled boxes. "Your Amestris and this Earth are linked by the Gate. A known factor, as you have traversed it bodily at least three times." Two boxes were drawn and labelled, linked together by a single neat line. "Suppose that my Amestris and your Amestris run parallel to each other, and I came diagonally from my Amestris to Earth." Ed's pen stopped again after the diagram was drawn out.

"What—are you saying," Ed said, because he'd scribbled out a right triangle. Roy reached out to trace the hypotenuse between Earth and his own Amestris.

"I paid a yet unknown toll to travel here." A white lie, perhaps. Because he remembered his conversation with Truth. The way back home lay with himself, not the Elrics. Truth had posed a riddle as the toll back, and he had yet to find the answer. "The distance between the two worlds is longer, and I wonder if the toll from here to my Amestris is greater than the toll from the two parallel Amestrises."

"You want to go to my world," Ed whispered, clutching his pen tightly.

"Travel between here and Amestris is a known quantity. You've proven it," Roy reasoned. "You were planning on going back anyway, and I'd like to minimize my toll, whatever it might end up being if my theory is correct." Roy gave him a mischievous look. "And of course, the National Library. I'd like to see what references I can dig up in there, if there's even anything to say about time-space alchemy."

"I..." Ed said, sounding slightly breathless. He flipped to a new page and started outlining a new circle with wavering lines. "I—okay. Okay. We can do that."

Somewhere along the way Roy had realized that he'd wanted to see Edward's smile, wanted to be there to see the relief when Ed returned home. Call it selfishness on his part, but Roy would put off a national coup just to see it happen.

* * *

Train stations seemed to be symbolic of beginnings and endings, at least in their lives. It was no special holiday, but the Lehrter Bahnhof was packed with departures and arrivals. On the platform with him stood his brother and Roy, along with Gracia, Officer Hughes, and Noah. Al made his way back to the group, their tickets in hand. They hadn't accumulated much in their stay in Berlin, so it had been fairly easy to sell what possessions they had over the course of a few days. Half the décor in the apartment had been books, anyway. In the end they'd packed only the essentials, and it looked like they were living out of suitcases again, just like the old days.

"Make sure to write," Gracia instructed Ed into her handkerchief. Oh, she was just too kind. Despite having just met her a year ago, Al would definitely miss her. "And send photos, too! I'll miss you too, Roy."

"Of course," Roy said smoothly, and Gracia's cheeks pinked slightly. Officer Hughes tried and failed to hide his scowl. Ed mirrored the expression with notably less success and swiped at Roy's ankles, which he dodged artfully. Al stifled a laugh and thought he was getting better at the sport of dodging Ed. "And thank you again for this lovely gift. Your baked goods truly have no equal."

"Damn it, bastard," Ed groused loudly, and was summarily dragged away by Noah. Al saw her speak to him in low tones as he and Roy exchanged goodbyes with Gracia. Officer Hughes approached them a final time, leaning close.

"One more thing, you two. I've gotten word that Adolf will be released on the 20th of December of this year. And Lieutenant Hess around the same time. I'd be careful around then. It's unlikely that they'll pursue you outside of Germany, but it's still a possibility."

"Understood," Roy said, straightening up and extending a hand. He gave him a grateful smile, just a touch melancholy. "Thank you for all your help, Officer. And take care of the those two. It'll be rough going in the future."

"My pleasure, Roy," Hughes returned, shaking the proffered hand. "I'll see if I can convince them to get out of the country, and I'll do my best." Hughes looked down at Alphonse, reaching down and ruffling his hair. "And you keep your brother out of trouble, Al."

"I always do," Al promised, smiling. "Thanks again, Officer."

And as they boarded the train, waving their last farewells to their few friends, Al found himself looking forward for what the future had in store. Especially when his brother kept glancing at Roy like that from across his seat, fidgeting with the chain of his new pocket watch in a way he hadn't ever done with his own.


End file.
